


Whumptober 2019

by SepZet



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Doom (Video Games), Final Fantasy XV, IT - Stephen King, Original Work, Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Cannibalism, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Demons, Evisceration, Implied/Referenced Incest, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture, Will add fandoms and characters and tags as each day comes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-08 20:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 32,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20841374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SepZet/pseuds/SepZet
Summary: Short ficlets following a whumptober prompt list. Each chapter title will have the fandom and the prompt. Featuring stories of suffering, fear, gore and delicious despair.





	1. It - Shaking Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Some of these stories may get naughty eventually? I mean, even this first chapter is...implied? IM NOT SURE HOW TO WRITE IT PORN OKAY

Deep breaths. Deep fucking breaths.

No matter how many times she told herself that, she wouldn’t stop gasping, desperate clawings of breath that couldn’t calm the fuck down.

It was just supposed to be a quick trip through the abandoned house, taking some pictures for an article she was writing, but that had all descended into some kind of fucking game with-

Something. She didn’t know. She couldn’t explain the movements, the voice, the fucking nightmare that she had somehow walked into.

Breathe. Breathe.

Rubbing her face with both hands, she kept up the mantra in her head. It was fine. Everything was fine, it was all in her head. No one else saw it. She was crazy, and things she imagined couldn’t hurt her. None of it was real.

No matter how many times she told herself that, she knew she would never believe it.

Peeling her hands away from her face, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes, only to choke on it, that shake and shudder coming back.

Because right in front of her, right in fucking front of her sat that fucking clown, legs crossed all prim and proper like a child, hands cupped over its face. She choked on a scream, and the damn thing giggled behind its hands.

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. There was no such thing as mutant fucking clowns.

The giggle faded, and the fingers parted so one yellow eye could stare at her. “You have to say it,” it whispered, then closed its fingers again.

Fuck. “Say…say what?” There were tears wobbling in every sound.

There was a put upon sigh, and the fingers parted again. “Peek-a-boo,” it tsked, then giggled.

“Uh. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say?” It was fucking with her in the worst way. Fucking piece of shit. But when that eye narrowed, she sputtered, putting her hands up. “I get it. Okay. I get it. Hide.”

It giggled, closing its fingers, and it waited. Stupid fucking clown.

“Wh-where did…uh.”

“Pennywise,” it huffed, shoulders slumping.

“Where did Pennywise go?” She was going to die there to a fucking clown. “I d-don’t see him anywhere.”

The clown giggled, wriggling in place for just a beat before those hands flapped open, and she could see that horrible face, that horrific smile freakishly wide as it grinned.

“Peek-a-boo!” It laughed, waving its hands in a silly little dance. It seemed delighted, clapping its hands together as it laughed and laughed.

She could only force a chuckle, eyes darting around for some kind of escape. It was fucking with her, and it was going to kill her and she couldn’t handle it.

“Okay, okay,” it lisped, waving at her. “Your turn!”

Her turn? Her turn? Fuck. She didn’t want to. She wanted to go home. But what choice did she have? She could only lift her hands, feel them shake and quake as she cupped them over her face.

“Oh!” Pennywise laughed, delighted, clapping its hands together. “Where did she go? Where did the little one go? I had so many fun games planned!” It tsked, and it giggled, the sound fading from the light, cheery bell to something deep, rasping. “Little one had such a warm body for nibbles and feastings.”

She sobbed behind her hands, slumping there. She knew there was going to be something awful there when she drew her hands away. She knew it. She never should have come to that house.

“Warm little body, so soft and open. Weak little creatures, so tasty sweet for munching and crunchings,” it continued to coo, that sweet clown voice so contorted into the low gravel of something terribly inhuman. “So delicious when flavored with fear.”

“I’m n-not afraid,” she whispered behind those hands. “We’re playing a game. Games are fun, never scary. I’m not scared. I’m not scared. Because we’re friends.” Friends. What a joke. “Pennywise is my very best friend and he would never, ever hurt me because we are such good friends.”

“Fr…friends?” It faltered.

“Yeah. Friends. We’re friends. Friends. Friends don’t hurt each other. They don’t eat each other. Nope. Friends.” If she kept saying it over and over, it had to be true. Believe it, feel it, and it would be true. Yes.

Even with the deep breath, her hands quaked, she shook, and she wanted to be anywhere but there.

All she could hear was raspy breathing. No more laughter. No more jiggling of bells. Just breathing, wet and hot, far too close.

“N-now, we need to play the game. We’re playing peek-a-boo.” She straightened up, clearing her throat. “You have to play.”

Raspy chuckle. Such deep, hellish stories of something that she couldn’t fully comprehend, especially how it seemed to know all the creepiest shit to say. “Where’s my little girl?”

Fuck. She spread her hands wide, taking a breath, and opening her eyes.

The clown was there, but his head was lowered, his eyes turned up to her. His lip was peeled down from his too sharp teeth, drool drizzling down his chin, dripping onto his satin clothes. But he smiling, which was maybe a bad thing or a good thing but it was hard to tell.

“Peeeeeeeek,” it breathed, leaning closer.

Her heart pounded, her hands shaking on either side of her face in a twisted parody of jazz hands.

“Ahhhhh,” it laughed, arms lengthening, palms pressing into the floor on either side of her as it loomed over her, saliva dripping down onto her.

As much as she wanted to stay upright, she had to lean back, just so she could keep looking up at the clown, even if the drip of his spit made her flinch.

“Booooooo,” it purred, lips peeling back, thousands upon thousands of sharp needle teeth sprouting from puffy gums. The red lines on its face looked less like paint and more like splits in the flesh, ready to peel open wide.

It tilted its head to the side, its entire visage seeming to twist and waver, like a reflection on an oiled mirror. It was like it struggled to hold on to the clown appearance, aching to twist into something different.

“We’re going to have soooo much fun together,” it crooned, mouth spreading wide, too wide, how could words come out come out of that mouth? “Because that’s what friends do!”

She laughed, but it sounded suspiciously like a sob.

She was going to die there. It was just a matter of when.


	2. Dark Knight Rises AU - Explosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippet for my long running fic Trade for the Better, after the explosions in the cave. Bane suffers from nightmares about it, maybe more so than Sep does. His guilt continues to haunt him.

There had already been so much loss and pain that he thought himself immune to such nightmares. It seemed as though there was much he did not know about the world, and his own place within the world. Or even of himself.

Even in the quiet, peaceful moments, he remembered her screams, and the explosions that had brought the roof of the cave down upon them. So many rocks, so much disorder and chaos that had been beyond his control. He hadn’t even known the attack was coming. The shame of it was intense.

Worse yet was when he had been pinned, trapped by his own ignorance under that boulder. He didn’t know if she was alive, didn’t know if his other half was alive, didn’t know what to do. No blades, no weapons, no hope.

There had been wars, battled beyond imagining in his life. In the Pit, in that prison. Out of there, in the League, in the fighting, in the raid of Gotham. He’d thought he’d given it all up in favor of domestic bliss, in a sense. They were never meant to survive Gotham, and when they did, they just wanted peace.

Until his love found her own war. And then the fighting had happened again.

In all of that, it mattered because he awoke from a nightmare in a sharp gasp, the echo of a past explosion ringing in his ears.

Dammit.

Reflex had his warm hand going to his stump, to the remnants of his shame that he could not bear. There were still aches, still pains to contend with even after all of that time, even after things had been repaired, wars had been won, and peace had been found.

Flinching at the ache, he sat up, massaging the point like the pain would go away. He know that it would not. He knew that it would remain, every moment of his life until he took his last breath, and faded away. What a sweet relief that would be, when fate finally decided to gift it to him.

Not that he had any place to complain. His habibi had lost far more than him, and she had been so young and so soft-

Shaking his head, he looked to his left, where he knew she would be, should be, and instead he found only empty bed, rumpled blankets where her sweet body should be.

Panic struck then. It was completely irrational and had no place in that moment. They were safe, had nothing to fear and yet, there it was, thudding in his heart, filling him up until he was out of breath. She was okay, she would definitely be okay, they had a home, a safe home and there was no way she was hurt.

Which was what he believed right before the explosion too, and then tragedy had struck.

A quick glance to his right assured him that his other half was safe, asleep and ignorant to his panic. He did not need to wake him yet. He could handle it on his own, did not need to terrify anyone else. He swept out of bed, feet padding on the carpet as he hurried out of the room, searching for something, anything to tell him where she might have gone.

A faint glow from the kitchen drew him, and in his hurry, he moved too close to the doorway, clipped his shoulder and drew a pained huff out of his lungs. The mask rattled horribly, as always, but it did not matter. It was an extension of him, just as his new limb was. He was used to it, and she shouldn’t have had to go through that. He’d failed her, he’d continue to fail her, his little habibi, his love-

Tripping over his feet, he stopped at the edge of the kitchen, breathing much too hard.

She stood in front of the fridge, lit up by the small bulb inside as she poured herself a glass of juice, some dark purple goop she had blended up the night before. She seemed ignorant of his presence, taking too long to close the bottle, and place it back in the fridge. Lifting the glass, she placed one hand on the door to step back and close it, her attention sweeping his way, only to stop, her brows lifting at the sight of him.

What a mess he was, no doubt. Terror making him look wild and ridiculous.

“Babaan? Are you alright?” She finally closed the fridge the rest of the way, taking careful steps towards him. Her metal feet clicked against the tile, out of place, unnatural, his fault, his fault-

Exhaling sharply, he pressed his hand over his eyes, trying to control the frantic pounding of his heart. She had been so soft and so innocent when he had first seen her, crouched by the banister of that opulent house, eyes wide with terror. Now, now she was covered in scars, scars of war, scars of his own doing, done by his knife, by his shame. The remnants of her limbs were pale with scars, her metal limbs even paler and she was twisted, strange, all his fault, his fault, and he should have left her at home.

“Babaan, hush now, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Her hands were so small on his shoulders, rubbing gently, though one was too hard, too cold, too metal.

She had no idea why he was so upset. And he would never tell her. She would coo to him as usual, assure him that it wasn’t his fault, but it was. It was all his fault, would always be his fault.

He allowed himself to be drawn down, his mask tucked against the side of her neck as she clucked and cooed, rubbing the back of his neck, right where the scar down his spine started.

He was made to suffer. Down in that Pit, among animals who fought to survive, he had always been meant to be scarred, hurt, thrown into the fire. He should have taken all the damage, left her pure and untainted, but he’d failed.

Talia had burnt up in her own war, due to his own failing of her as well.

This time, he wouldn’t let his love burn up. He’d do better. He’d protect her that time.


	3. Venom - Delirium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie realizes that he has even less control of Venom than he thinks he does. Venom finds this...cute.

Control. It was all about control.

Whether or not he had it, he had no idea. Hard to tell. If he asked his other half, his better half, his worse half, he’d be reassured that yes, oh yes, he had plenty of control, thank you.

Lies. He knew that.

Dragging open the cabinet above the sink, he blinked tiredly at the shelf. It was full.

It was supposed to be empty. It had to have been empty, but no, it wasn’t. Inside, stacked up in so many neat piles were the bars of chocolate he had bought. He’d agonized over them, finding the best quality, the ones with the right chemicals, the one that would soothe his other half and the cravings for brains.

They should have been eaten. He had been told that they had been eaten. He had believed it.

“Venom,” Eddie hissed, scrubbing a fist over his eye. “Can we talk?”

Always, Eddie, it whispered back, in the back of his head, as always. When it spoke, it felt like the black oil, viscous and thick against the soft tissue of his brain. If he could look at it, hold his brain in his hands, he suspected he would see a black spiderweb of shit covering it.

“Why’s the chocolate still here?”

Because it has not been eaten, Eddie. There was a snicker in its voice. It knew it was playing with him. It was going to fuck with him until the end of time.

“And why hasn’t it been eaten? You said we ate it.” Because the night before had been a blur. Venom had wanted out, wanted control, wanted brains, wanted all of that tasty soft flesh. There was a compromise, of course. A promise. When Venom got like that, they were supposed to stay in the apartment and gorge on chocolate. A supplement, an exchange for the real thing when they couldn’t go and get a hold of the real thing, when they couldn’t find bad people to eat.

It seems that we did not. How curious. More of a laugh. He could almost feel its tongue dragging over too many teeth, too sharp.

That made no sense. While he made a point of not being aware when they did eat brains, he knew the feeling after they did. He could feel the warmth, the bubbly feeling in their veins after they consumed brains. It felt good, felt like heroine, like everything good and wonderful. Chocolate just tasted good. It provided none of those feelings.

If he focused, really focused, he could feel the pop-pop-pop of those sweet, wonderful feelings in his blood.

And his stomach dropped.

“Venom,” he hissed, slamming the cabinet shut. “Did we eat people last night?”

You really do sleep very hard, Venom clucked, as if it had any right to disapprove of him. I do not know why you look so tired all of the time.

Oh god. They had. They’d gone out the night before. They’d hunted, they’d killed.

The realization hit him like a brick wall, making his waver in place, slumping forward, barely catching himself on the counter top. Like a flickering light show, images came back to him, bits and pieces of the night before that he had not been fully aware of.

Leaping from building to building, wild and free in the night air. Scenting like a bloodhound, searching for the stink of human flesh until some could be found. They’d just been people, walking home from a party, from something. It didn’t matter. They’d reached down with inky black, grabbing writhing human bodies and dragging them up to the rooftops, where they wouldn’t be seen.

They’d reveled in the screams, opening their mouth wide, curling their tongue around the top of the human’s head and sinking their teeth into it. The needle points of their teeth had easily pressed through the thin bone of the skull, crunching through, cracking through like the shell of an egg. Blood burst across their tongue, followed by the sweet, sweet crush of brains, the head yielding to their hunger. The hair was a bit offputting, but the reward of brain was too much, their rumble of their stomach overpowering.

Bodies had gone limp, their prize taken. As tasty as human flesh was, they didn’t really want to eat the bodies, but they couldn’t leave evidence, now could they? So that had been devoured too, every scrap, blood licked up from the stone, every trace taken away and satisfied.

Eddie scrabbled across the countertop. He knew it was coming, could feel it coming and he made it just in time, curling over the sink as his stomach emptied itself. He puked, heaved, but the only thing that came out was thick black ooze. It settled over the drain, too thick to wash away.

Especially when white splotches formed on the surface of the ooze, spreading until familiar eyes looked back at him.

Now now, Eddie, it cooed in his head, condescending. They died for a good purpose. To feed us. They must all feed us.

“Fuck you,” he spluttered at it, glaring down at it. “They didn’t have to die!”

Venom just laughed, thickly sweet in his head, making him dizzy, making him sway and slump there. He could only watch as his blackened vomit slithered up the side of the sink, inching over his flesh, sinking in.

There was no losing Venom. They were one, would always be one. Even fi he got it out of his flesh, it would find its way back to him. There was some comfort in never being alone, but if the exchange meant that he would be forced to eat so much flesh, then would it be worth it?

I will never leave you, it whispered, like it knew what he was thinking. It most likely did. We will be together forever, my love.

Yes. Forever.

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut against the burn of tears, fighting the urge to try and puke again. It wouldn’t work. There was no point.


	4. Kingsglaive AU - Human Shield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mawqid is a small country outside of Insomnia that becomes a target for Niflheim's attacks. Sahiras are the witches and protectors of their people, and sometimes, they must do horrible things to survive.

Anything to survive. Anything.

Tears burned at her eyes, but she knew the ash and smoke in the air certainly didn’t help. The stench of war was thick, and there was only so much she could do to shut it out. She’d had her meditation and practice for years before, but it was nothing compared to the reality of war.

“Incoming!”

She heard the whistle shortly after the call, cursing her own fortune as she threw herself forward, to the small outcropping of rock that she had been cowering behind.

They’d long since been taught that war was their reality. In a land of metals and precious stones, there would always be someone who would want to take it. There would always be war, and death. She had trained, practiced her magics to be able to defend it. They just never imagined an enemy like Niflheim to come.

A small country. A small people of color and magic, separate from the wars. Their only shame was having too much wealth that they did not properly share. They were a peaceful people. She trained to be prepared for war, but they never actually expected to have to go to war. They shouldn’t have to fight. They were good people.

They were good people!

The first mortar hit, and it sent a shower of stone and sand over her hiding spot. She cursed, hunching lower, but that was nothing compared to the screams of the people caught in the blast.

Fuck. She thought she’d be better at war. She was the strongest sahira, and her people still died around her. She was a failure. All they could hope was that some survivors would get out, and they could rebuild elsewhere.

But she had to survive. She was the culture and the protection of her people. She had to survive.

“Volley incoming!” Her fellow surviving sahira shouted from across the battlefield, hauling people with him into the caves, in some hope that they would survive the coming fire.

She was out in the open, though. She wouldn’t make it to the caves in time, and even if she did, she’d be too far away to run defense if the Nifs came and attacked them while they were confused.

So she had to stay where she was. But even with her strengths, she wouldn’t survive the volley. She needed a shield of some kind.

Her heart twisted up. She knew what she had to do.

The tears bubbled over as she murmured the words needed. Her throat clenched, but the intent was enough that even if she was slurred with sobs, she could cast her spell.

Slowly, like tar, the bodies around her started to slide closer. Some were limper than others. Some were still alive. For the greater good. For her survival, so she could continue, so she could continue on some kind of legacy of her people.

The dead snagged on the rocks a bit, but they flopped and rolled, slotting into place around her. But by bit, more flopped over an unseen barrier, building up around her like an igloo of flesh, a shell of human bodies.

She could not stop sobbing, pulling more and more, pulling as much cooling flesh from the battlefield around her until it could pile over her, more and more. They were dying and dead. She needed to survive, she had to go on.

Light was cut out, and all she had was the heat of the sand under her knees, the slow drip of the blood from the bodies over her, and her tears. She just kept pulling, building up her human shield over top of her. The layer was almost so thick that she didn’t hear the whistle of the volley coming.

When the first shell hit, she only had to hold the shell around her, her human shield. She knew she should keep her eyes closed. She shouldn’t look, but she couldn’t help but peel her eyes open.

It was just as horrible as she knew it was going to be. The twisted forms of her friends, of her people around her. Limbs slotted into places that they didn’t belong, colorful clothing stained with blood. The faces, the blank faces with empty eyes focused on nothing, but turned on her. Watching her.

They were judging her. So many empty faces, turned inwards towards her. Staring at her.

“I have to!” She screamed at them, tears streaking down her face. “I need to live! I need to carry us on!”

So many broken bodies. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t her fault! The Nifs forced her hand! Her people needed to survive, she needed to carry them on, she had to, she had to do it, she didn’t want to disrespect their bodies, didn’t want to use their deaths, but she had to, she had to-

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I don’t want to do this!” She screamed, she raged at the bodies around her as the volley of mortar shells rained down on the battlefield around her. She could feel their bodies breaking apart around her, protecting her from the fire, but they were being destroyed.

If only she could die with them. She didn’t deserve to live, not with her destroying their bodies like that. She could only wail, plead with them, beg the gods to forgive her, forgive her for doing that to her people.

People she knew. Her people. Familiar faces, the baker, her neighbor, people she had eaten with, talked with, people she knew, sacrificed. They had already died, but she was complicit. It was her fault. All her fault.

When the volley stopped, when the fire stopped raining down on them, she shoved her hands outwards, casting the bodies away from her. She couldn’t bear to look at them anymore. She sobbed, her body sticky with blood, with her people’s blood.

She was a failure. In every sense of the word, she failed.

Stumbling to her feet, she turned her bleary eyes towards the edge of the battlefield, where the gleaming forces of the Nifs marched ever closer.

They wanted war? She’d show them war.

She screamed, screamed out her rage to them.

She would show them what it was to anger a sahira.


	5. Kingsglaive AU - Gunpoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of Human Shield. The witch has survived the battle and goes to Insomnia to try and find help. Instead, she gets mugged. A pretty normal day, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this one wasn't as sad but I could not for the life of me figure out how to make this chapter work. Plus I couldn't resist slipping a certain dirty swamp man in. I mean, my sister and I have this big AU story and I wanted to...okay so whatever its a little shippy so sue me.

She was good with metal. It was kind of her things. Metal was in blood, so she could do stuff with human bodies too. She was skilled. Powerful. She was sahira.

She wasn’t quite sure how she could handle metal going very, very fast.

Huffing, she flinched when the man yanked the rings off of her fingers. Her conduits, her precious metals, being taken from her. She knew armed robbery was a thing, but where she was from, it was typically done with a knife. Or a sword. Or with bare hands. Guns were a concept she didn’t quite understand.

They killed people. She knew that much. She knew they propelled small pieces of metal very fast. Probably couldn’t stop the metal with her normal powers as it was. Might as well not risk it and just wait.

“Dumbass bitch, walking around with so much fucking gold on?” Her mugger sneered at her, yanking her chains off, shoving them senselessly into his pockets. “You just asking to get robbed.”

Sure she was. She flinched when his friend lifted his gun higher, keeping it trained on her.

It was just supposed to be a quick kind of trip. Leave Mawqid, go to Insomnia, beg for help from the king or whatever, and then move on. Insomnia was not a place she had wanted to stay, and that feeling only seemed more valid with the highway robbery.

She could attack. But that gun didn’t seem like the best idea.

“Alright, I think I got all of it,” the one grumbled, backing up a step. “Now what?”

Yes, now what. She was a foreigner in a strange land at the mercy of desperate men with the need to take conduits from sahiras. Rude. She could already feel her body heating from the lack of conduits, her metal tattoos doing their best to keep her in one piece. She could combust if she wasn’t careful.

“I dunno. We could have some fun with her.”

Ugh. She rolled her eyes hard. At gunpoint, men felt empowered and women were made to be toys. Things could be worse. Of course, they would find themselves to be severely disappointed with what they could get from her. She would not be raped. Still, they were welcome to try. Even without her conduits, she would have her defenses.

And really, were Insomnian criminals such animals as it was? Raping women in the bushes? So uncomfortable. Not that she expected silk sheets and plush rugs when it came to violating, but bitch.

“I mean, I dunno. She’s not being any fun.”

Because she was supposed to kick and scream. Assholes. She just rolled her eyes. If they could make a decision, that’d be great.

The two men continued to bicker. She could probably get up and run and they’d hardly even notice. She, however, noticed when the brush behind them moved. It wasn’t a rustle or a sway, but a slow, deliberate shift to the side. Nothing done on accident, of course.

Should she say something? There was one with a gun trained on her. There was no reason to defend them. They wanted to hurt her, didn’t they?

So that was why she didn’t say anything and just watched.

A hulking beast of a man lunged out of the underbrush, his arm hooking around the neck of the man with the gun. There was a short moment of a gasp before his windpipe was clamped shut. Hands spasmed, legs kicked, and there was a general struggle as he was choked. Which was good, as it dragged the attention of the other man over.

Curses sputtered from the one who could breathe. It was ridiculous.

Resting her chin on her knees, she watched the standoff. Fascinating to see the big man in a standoff with the other.

“Let go of him!”

The big man growled, his arm clamping down harder, and harder, and then there was a snap, and the body went limp. The moment the life left that body, the big man threw it aside, lunging at the other, and they descended like so much meat.

It was only a moment, a few seconds, and then there was silence. An instant, a killing, and there was silence.

The big man exhaled deeply, so deeply, straightening up from his post on the dead body. Presumably dead. She didn’t know. But he turned his head and looked at her.

She should probably be afraid. She wasn’t though.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t on edge. He just killed two people right in front of her, and that didn’t mean he wouldn’t turn on her. So she maintained eye contact as she crawled forward, towards the body that he sat on.

It was an awkward sort of stare as she started to paw through the corpse’s pockets to get her conduits back. Even seated on a dead body, he loomed over her. He was big. Bigger than big. He had to be a hunter, someone who killed and brought in dangerous beasts for profit. She’d heard of them.

He didn’t move for her. He just watched her put her conduits back on. Bit of a strange situation. Someone had to say something.

“Thank you for saving me,” she murmured, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “If you did. I mean, I am not sure what this is.”

He blinked slowly. Very slowly, almost like he was half asleep.

“Ah kin naw unnerstan wuh yew sayin t me.”

The fuck? Were those words? Hard to tell, but it was enough to wake her up. Right. She wasn’t speaking their language. She could understand it, studied it, but she couldn’t speak it. It didn’t seem like he could speak it either.

Maybe he was a foreigner? Not like she could ask.

Maybe there was an alternative.

Touching her fingertips to her chin, she swept her hand downward. Sign language was pretty universal, right? He could understand that.

His eyes tracked her movement. Again, that slow blink.

“Ah dun speak hand.”

Speak hand? She understood that much. Not that it made any sense. All she could do was giggle helplessly, momentarily thrown off. And he just stared at her.

Insomnia sucked, but at least there seemed to be some kind of redeeming quality of it. Namely big murderous men that spoke in strange tongues.


	6. Original Fiction - Dragged Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cooper Graves, a taxidermist, is also part of a long line of Mediums. He had kids long ago, but has made a point of avoiding them due to fear of going crazy like his mother did and hurting them. So, when they show up on his front door wanting him to demonstrate his abilities to them, he's a little wary, but he can't bear to pass up an opportunity to be close to his kids, if only for a moment.

“Are you sure this is safe?”

No. But he wasn’t going to tell them that. So he grunted and nodded, because that would have to do.

Bonding over his abilities. Not what he wanted, but it would have to do. And it wasn’t like they knew who they were dealing with. That he was their father. It was a sin that even he knew. He shouldn’t know. There was no reason for him knowing beyond using it to stay as far away from them as possible.

But there he was, drawing sigils on the floor with chalk and lighting candles in preparation under the watchful eye of his twin daughters.

Sighing, he settled back on his haunches, looking over the floor. Seemed good. Enough wards to keep them safe, if he remembered correctly. As always, the spirits of the air whispered around him, warning him, urging him. Usually, he did a good job of ignoring them, but that day, it was a bit twisted up.

“Awright,” he drawled, running his arm under his nose. “S’ready.”

“Okay! Okay. So.” Delilah shook her hands out, rising from her seat along the wall, carefully shuffling closer. “So this will work.”

“Yes.”

“And we won’t die,” Sloane cut in, her perfect brow arching. “Because this all sounds like shit that will get us killed.”

“Oh stop being such a wet blanket.”

“I am not a wet blanket!”

They certainly bickered like siblings. Cooper rolled his eyes, waving vaguely over a bare spot on the floor. “Anyone specific you wanna call?”

“Baphomet!”

“No, we’re not starting with Baphomet, are you kidding? We’re starting smaller than that, thank you.”

Fate had such a cruel sense of humor. Bringing his daughters to him with the interest in summoning a demon to question. It was his abilities that made him want to stay as far away from his children as possible. He didn’t want to be like his mother, didn’t want to be awful, didn’t want, didn’t want-

“Do you have something smaller we could summon?”

Right. Talking. “I mostly deal with spirits. Not much with demons. This is all you two.”

“I mean, do we have to put something on there? Could we leave it blank?”

Technically, yes. It didn’t particularly seem like a good idea, though. Not much to be done about it, though. So he shrugged, rising to his feet.

“Okay. Cool. So I guess, let’s do it.” Sloane clapped her hands together, grinning so wide.

She was so pretty. Both of his daughters turned out so nice. Reasonable, lovely ladies that had a concerning fascination with the occult that somehow led them to him, dammit.

He didn’t want to do it, but okay. Waving them to either side of the circle, he took a deep breath. He had to be a good business, and give them what they wanted, even if it made him ache with even considering it.

But he murmured the words, waving his bone prosthetic hand over the sigil. And as one, all of the candles lit.

A parlor trick that always amazed. They cooed in awe of him. He wasn’t sure of how to feel about it. He shouldn’t be trying to impress them, but he did want his daughters to like him, even if they didn’t know who he was.

Regardless, he focused and he spoke the words that invited spirits in. A foolish thing to do, but it was what they were paying him for at a severely heightened price to try and dissuade them.

But there they were. Him calling to the spirits, and them watching with eager and terrified eyes.

It was always slow to start. It seemed like nothing for a long time, but slowly, if someone was watching, they’d be able to track the slow illumination of the sigil beneath their feet. The glow started small, growing bit by bit until it became impossible not to notice.

His mother was a much stronger medium than him. She probably had far more luck with summonings than he ever did, but that was fine. He didn’t want to be like her. Not one bit.

The glow of the sigil grew brighter and brighter to the point that it became nearly unbearable to witness. He heard his daughters coo in wonder of it all. It was a crescendo, building and building more and more until-

The glow stopped.

All at once, it blinked out, and the room was dark again. Even the candles were out.

Which was unexpected, to say the least.

“Wh…did something happen?”

“I didn’t see anything. Was that supposed to happen?”

No. No it was not. But he had to be confident, right? Even if the whole thing made him want to panic. Just a little. He must not have done it right, and doing summonings wrong was more than a little unnerving. Was it completely unsuccessful, or did something else happen entirely?

Hard to tell.

Planting his hands on his hips, he scowled down at the sigil. It should have worked, and it should have summoned something that they could feasibly talk to.

“Not to distract or anything, but, uh, was the room always this dark?”

Cooper’s attention snapped up. No. The room hadn’t been that dark. It shouldn’t have been that dark and that darkness was not a good sign. It absolutely wasn’t.

“Light the candles,” he gasped, already lunging down to the one closest to him. They all had lighters, he just needed to get them lit.

“What do you mean, light the candles? Can’t you just do it?” Delilah snorted, ignorant, confident.

He looked to her just as he saw the darkened hands reach out from the shadows, too many small child hands, all of the, curling around her ankles and yanking hard.

He and Sloane shouted as Delilah fell, her chin hitting into the ground with a wet smack. She had a moment to shout, to scream, and the hands yanked.

She shrieked like the dying as the hands dragged her away, through his basement and back up the stairs. No matter how she scrabbled for purchase, the hands were relentless, and in an instant, she was gone.

Dragged away by some fucking demon that he’d stupidly summoned for them.


	7. Original Fiction - Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Expansion on a chapter of Despair, where Sep is locked in the shed with a corpse. Darkness sure brings a lot of things into perspective.

It wasn’t real. None of it was real.

Keep telling herself that, over and over. It didn’t become any easier to handle.

The stench had gotten obscene. Sometimes, she thought she could hear movement from her roommate. Probably worms, bugs, creatures feasting on the rotting flesh that she’d had to-

That he made her-

A low, shaking groan jerked out of her chest. It throbbed between her legs. She’d already tried to scrub at it, get that crawling feeling away from her, but no, no no, nothing would ever replace it.

Fuck a corpse, then get locked away with it. Yup. Perfect. She was so fucking stupid.

He’d already raped her. Made her eat human flesh. Hit her, choked her, made it abundantly clear that he was more than okay with kill anyone and everyone so long as it entertained him. He just liked to have a good time, that was all that he wanted. She was just supposed to make him feel better. Everything was about him feeling good.

Trying to stab him was probably a thing that didn’t make him feel good. She should have kept that in mind.

Anything, anything was better than being locked in that shed. Alone. Sure, Black stank. He smelled of rot and meat and everything horrible, but he was warm, and he touched her, and it was better than that cold shed. She was going crazy. She had to be.

Isolation would do that to a person. Locked up with nothing, no light but a shred under the door of the shed, no water but the runoff from the rain that tasted like dirt and metal. She would do anything, say anything if he would just come back and get her, take her back into the house and return to whatever normal they had established.

In silence and imprisonment, the mind could provide sounds and sensations that weren’t real. She had no way to track the passage of time. Sometimes she heard things. Sometimes her skin crawled. She was cold. Lonely. She missed him. She missed him so much.

Thudding her head against the wall, she wailed softly. If he could come back, if he would just come back, she would be so good to him. She would be so nice. She’d do anything to make him happy. He was easy to make happy. Just fuck him, make food for him, keep his home clean. She could do that. She was so good at that.

Her knee didn’t hurt anymore. She wasn’t quite sure how she should feel about that. It was either better, or it was worse. When she felt it, it felt too big. Too lumpy. Her knee was fucked up, never properly healing, her mark, her brand from the first time she had met Black. A souvenir. His gift to her.

He could do anything he wanted to her so long as he came back. As long as someone looked at her, touched her, said anything, did anything but the wet trickle and slide from the corpse in the corner. Anything was better, anything would be better, she just wanted, just needed him, anything, anything, please, please!

“Black,” she wailed, the sound choking off when yet more sound came from the sack of meat in the corner. There was something there, some animal and she wasn’t alone, but it was the worst kind because she didn’t know what was there. Of course.

The ache in her heart was insane. There was being alone, and then there was whatever it was she was dealing with. The persistent throb in her chest, in her body, it was like dying. Going from constant touch to nothing was the worst torture. She’d trade anything to have his pawing, his nuzzling, the weird way he fucking licked her neck when she was trying to cook, she take it back. 

But nothing would change where she was. All she could do was survive.

But why. Why survive. She should stop drinking water, stop clinging to whatever shreds of life she had. Be free of the torture, free of him, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t weak enough, she didn’t know, she didn’t know, she didn’t know anything-

“Black! Please!” She wailed, she screamed, she beat her fists on the wall, on the door. “I’m sorry! Please come back! Please! I’ll be a good girl! I’ll be so good for you! Please!”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He was probably at work, probably in his house, didn’t care, wanted to leave her there, wanted her to rot. She was worthless, a waste of his generosity. She deserved it.

Spending so long with him, only to be without him made everything feel different. Isolation, in the dark and the cold made everything seem so small in comparison. The overpowering ache of loneliness in her chest overwhelmed the disgust in him, in his acts, in what he made her do.

Starvation probably had something to do with it.

Black made her eat human flesh before. Raw. She hadn’t puked.

Somehow, she turned towards the body. It was too rotten. She couldn’t. It would kill her. If she didn’t die from starvation. There was a chance he’d come back. But the body was right there. She could feel something was on it. Maggots, most likely. Something. It was impossible to tell.

She was cold. So cold.

Limb stiff, she crawled forward. Her thoughts were elsewhere, gone. Human thought was gone. Her hands patted through liquid. It wasn’t water. Continuing forward, she felt something soft and slick under her fingertips. It moved a little, but it was warm.

Laying beside it, she curled towards the warmth. Some kind of comfort, some kind of soothing.

“I’ll be good,” she murmured to herself, to the body, to Black, to anyone who would hear her. Despite it all, despite all that she had seen and done in her time with Black, she didn’t want to die.

She wanted to see him again. Would give anything to see him again.

She loved him. She always loved him.

She always would.


	8. Original Fiction - Stab Wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black McGrath goes to the bar to find himself a someone to play with. And he succeeds!

Boredom was the worst plague. The way it crawled through a body, making everything sluggish and slow, dragging everything back.

His broken nails dragged over his stubble, his tired eyes trailing over the people in the bar. Mostly locals. Going to the bar on a Tuesday evening was usually a crapshoot. There had been some desire to drink and relax, but even that didn’t seem very satisfying. He wouldn’t have minded if someone was interested in fooling around, but again, Tuesday.

Black just hadn’t had time to browse for any new playthings. It wasn’t tourist season, and it was too cold out for any homeless people to be out in the open. The desire to go digging through ditches was definitely not on the forefront of his mind.

But he was bored. That hunger was building in his belly, which was never a good sign. Kind of needed a few things to deal with that. Food. Sex. Murder. The last one was fun, but that would be harder. Well, if he wanted to get away with it. That was preferable.

Sighing, he twisted back to the bar, picking up his bottle of beer. He’d just have to bite the bullet, and be bored for another day. There would be more opportunities to have some fun. He had work in the morning anyhow.

The weather channel was on the television above the bar. There was supposed to be a storm sometime in the week. It would stir up some good catches. Big gators came out when everything else was tussled up.

Black brought the beer to his lips, taking a long draw of it as his eyes remained glued to the television. Moving pictures were enough to draw his attention. That was enough for the moment.

The front door jingled as someone entered. The bartender didn’t call out, didn’t greet them. That wasn’t necessarily weird.

What was weird was when they came up to the bar beside him. The sweet scent of perfume drew his attention, drew his eye over to them.

Two women, lovely and young. Unfamiliar. Outsiders. Potential victims, then.

Interest flooded him, coaxing him into turning on his stool towards them. He could work things around to what he wanted, right? Have some kind of fun with them? He just had to play his cards right to get what he wanted.

It took only a moment for one of them to notice him, but it felt like an age when pretty eyes swept his way, her manicured hand curling around some brightly colored drink the bartender slid her way. Her brow arched, her plump lips pressing around the straw.

Pornographic, really. The edge of his lips curled up, baring his teeth in a feral sort of grin.

She smiled a little, then turned her head away, as if disinterested.

Oh, he loved those games. He loved those games a lot, so long as there was a fun reward at the end.

Sliding off of his stool, he stepped closer, looming over the girl. Her friend glanced over at him, with the same face. She looked exactly the goddamn same. Twin sister, then? Possibly. Made sense. Two times the fun, then.

“Ugh.” The other sister tsked, rolling her eyes. She had a fun sort of mohawk and much more radical makeup. Still pretty. “Who’s this creep?”

“No idea. He stinks,” the one closest to him tsked, but her voice had a touch of a laugh, not all that much disgust. “Should have known there’d be creeps in this bar.”

“Tall creeps.”

“Muscular creeps.”

They both giggled, hunching closer together, making a huge point of avoiding him. Ignoring him.

He stepped closer, hunching down. He couldn’t resist leaning in, dipping down and nuzzling in against the first one’s hair, breathing deep.

“Oh gross!” She shrieked, she giggled, arching her back away from him. “What a creep!”

But she was laughing. That was good. He stayed close, grinning at them.

“Okay, okay,” the punk one laughed, sliding off of her stool. “Creeps like you need to be dealt with.” She stepped closer to him, brushing past her sister so she could bring her hand forward, cupping her long fingers over his crotch.

Oh, that was nice. He purred, pushing into it, looming over her now.

“Come on, big boy. Let’s go have some fun.”

Oh yes. Oh yes, yes, yes. The other sister slapped down some money, sharing a look with her counterpart. When they headed off, he happily followed them out of the bar. Around the outside of the building, around to the back alley. A nice, private place.

“So, big boy,” the punk one sang, turning and pushing him back against the wall. “What’s your name?”

“Black.” His voice was such a growl, probably because he was getting so riled up. If they were enough fun, maybe he wouldn’t have to rape and murder them. Depending on if they came back to town. If it was a one time visit, might as well drag it out. Capture them, take them home with him, have as much fun as they could handle.

“Well. I’m Delilah. This is Sloane. And you. You look like a damn good time.” Delilah pressed up against him, trailing her fingers down his chest.

“A very good time,” Sloane agreed, pressing up against his other side.

That was new. Little ladies like that didn’t usually take charge, but he was more than happy to try something new.

“He’s perfect.”

“Perfect enough.” Delilah hooked her hand behind his head, drawing him down closer. He went easily, eager for her attention. “It helps that he’s so…”

She grinned wide, so wide.

“Stupid.”

His body tensed just a moment before the fiery pain shot through his middle. He gasped, hands jerking to his belly.

Slone gripped the knife in his gut hard, letting out a snarl as she dragged the blade to the side, slicing through flesh and muscle.

Black gurgled, grabbing at the gash. His tensing, spasming muscles created the wet slide of intestines, skating past his grasping fingers, draping over his wrists.

“Always easy to get the horny ones,” Delilah sighed, her voice distant, fuzzy.

“Just four more to go,” Slone added, flicking the blood off of her knife. “Think we can get another from this bar?”

“If we’re quick.”

Well. Okay. Didn’t see that coming.

Black groaned, slumping to the ground. Well, he had been hoping for something new. He got what he asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes when you love someone you just have to gut them


	9. Original Fiction - Shackled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Au where Sep gets the upper hand on Black, and shows him what for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm allowed a few nice ones OKAY

Power. It wasn’t something she was exactly familiar with, but now that she had it, it wasn’t anything she ever wanted to let go of.

Gripping the wrapped leather, she lifted the riding crop high. It was hard to tell if she had wound up enough. Still, she brought it down hard, and the resulting crack was immensely satisfying. Not nearly as satisfying as the sharp cry of pain it earned her.

“Yeah! Take that!” She laughed, she crowed, bringing it back down again and again, over and over on that flesh, so many cracks, so many yips and howls of pain. “If only I could make you feel half of what you’ve put me through! I want you to suffer!”

It was insane. She’d gotten power, she’d somehow gotten power for even a little bit. He’d been so foolish, so trusting with that cup of coffee, chugging it down. The anticipation of his passing out had been intense, but when his big body fell, she had her chance.

Dragging him to his fucking torture room was hard. Big, hunk of terrible meat, getting him to the chains, latching those shackles onto his wrists.

He’d looked so good chained. Collar around his throat, so much like he had put on her. A little bit of power, all for her, all for her to enjoy.

Hours upon hours of beating him, whipping him, keeping him chained on that thin mattress he called her bed was the most cathartic sort of therapy she could have ever asked for. Her only regret was that she hadn’t thought to bring any knives in to play with.

Thudding her boot down onto his gut, she reveled in his sharp wheeze. Leaning now, she used the end of the crop to tilt his chin back.

Sweat dripped down his flesh, his cheeks flushed with the strain and suffering. Blond curls stuck to his brow, his jaw hung open, drool slicking his lips. He looked a mess, breathing hard, hazy eyes fixed on her.

“That’s right,” she breathed, stroking the leather over his cheek. “Attention on me. All on me. Because for once, for fucking once, it isn’t about you. This is about me.”

He groaned, tugging at his shackles, writhing underneath her weight. Seeing him pinned was delicious, just a small sample of all that he had done to her, of all the times he’d held her down, forced himself on her, taken, hurt her, done whatever he wanted to her.

It was her turn.

“You’ve had so much fun, forcing me down, making me take that log you call a dick for so long. It’s about time you felt what I felt. It’s about time you suffered.” Rearing back, she brought the crop down against his chest, reveling in his scream.

Oh yes. Since she had the time and the power, she could completely destroy him.

Which was why she giggled, tightening the straps. The neon pink dildo bobbed obscenely in front of her, nearly too large to fit the harness. Lucky that it fit. She wanted something massive to shove in him, she wanted to make him ache.

“I got this one just for you,” she sang, turning towards him, slapping her hand down on the toy. It wobbled obscenely, and that was perfect. “Nice and big. And pink. I liked the sparkles, but that’s just, you know, aesthetic.”

He groaned, turning his face to hide it against his arm, shuddering from head to toe.

Um.

“Hey,” she cooed, dropping down to her knees at his side. Smoothing her fingers through his sweaty hair, she clucked and cooed, cupping his jaw with her other hand, coaxing him into turning. “Look at me, baby. Are you okay?”

He hummed, nuzzling in against her palm. His big body curled towards her, reading more of his feelings than his words. Still, it was good to ask.

“Do you want to stop?”

“If you stop, I’ll bite you.”

She snorted, rubbing his ear between her fingertips. “Okay. Well. What do you think of this dildo? Too much?”

He blinked down at it, squinting. “S’good for a start.”

“A start? What do you mean a start?”

He shrugged, rattling his chains a little. “Know you got something bigger.”

“Black, sweetheart, that won’t fit in the harness.”

“Doesn’t have to fit in the harness. Just has to fit in my ass.”

“Baby.”

He chuckled, looking so damn soft and sweet. It wasn’t often that he became so buttery and cute. Especially when his dick was hard, but eh, it was nice to mix things up once in a while.

“Okay. Well. Let me know if anything starts to hurt or anything. I mean, like, bad hurt.” She couldn’t resist leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. He was sweaty and gross, but that was ideal. That meant he was having a good time.

Okay. Ready. Grabbing up the bottle of lube, she dumped way too much on the glittering pink toy. Smearing it all over, she crawled down to his legs. It took some shoving to get him to spread, but it was all play. His bobbing dick was answer enough to how much he was enjoying it.

She could do some prep, but she knew he had no patience for that. So she just braced herself and shoved into him, rolling her hips forward until she was seated entirely up in his ass. She could feel the resistance of his body, muscles clamping down hard.

Was that what it was like when he took her? Did her body fight him, even when she wanted it so badly?

Reaching out, she placed her palm flat on his chest. Her pale skin against his tan skin, the gleam of her ring on her finger.

“I love you,” she sighed, everything melting down.

He chuckled, tugging at his shackles. No response, but she never expected one. He didn’t know how to love, but that was fine. She was pretty sure she wasn’t very good at it either.

Whatever they had worked for her. It was broken, and probably not entirely healthy, but that was okay. Nothing in life was truly healthy.

Slapping her hands down on his hips, she thrust up hard into him.

He snarled, yanking hard at his shackles.

Perfect.


	10. Original Fiction - Unconscious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A college student goes back to his dorm to sleep and invites an unwanted guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need to name this motherfucker what even is he

School was a nightmare beyond belief, but wasn’t that the case for every person? Social anxiety, constant projects, all of that shit. He wasn’t special. He really, definitely wasn’t special.   
Hard to explain, but that was how it was.

Shuffling into his dorm room, Ben let his bag slide from his shoulder onto the floor. There were important books in there, but it wasn’t like he was going to be able to sell it back for any kind of profit. No no, those funds were gone. Long gone. School was highway robbery and nothing more.

A few more steps, and he could just collapse onto his bed, face down. Sweet, stiff mattress. It wasn’t ideal, but it was his bed, and he was lucky enough to get a solo room. He knew plenty of people in his classes that had horrible roommates.

Not that he’d actually talked to his classmates. Or anyone.

Oh, nothing to worry about. He didn’t need friends to get an education. He just needed to relax.

He had homework to do. Should probably focus on that, but all he wanted to do was sleep. Might as well and take some kind of nap. Though, typically his naps stretched out way longer than they should, but hey, depression was a bitch.

Flopping over, Ben stared up at the ceiling. Just a little nap, and then he could do his homework and go through that shit all over again. Yup. Just every day, the same shit. Good times.

Nothing like sweet, sweet unconscious hallucinations to make himself feel better. Heaving a sigh, his eyes fell closed. Just a nap.

Dreams were good, typically. Mostly because he knew it was stuff that wasn’t real. Even with nightmares, he knew it wasn’t actually happening. Just a bunch of disjointed feelings, usually inspired by how shitty he felt.

He had dreams of all kinds, really. The variety was nice. It helped mix up the monotony of his day to day life.

Like that time. His dream that time was a bit different. It started with a dream of school, as usual. Something about forgetting to finish a project, or something. But in that dream, he blinked for two seconds, and awoke in his dream on his bed, much like he was laying there. A dream of exactly what he was doing. What a concept.

A dream of his dorm room, just as it always was. His backpack on the ground, his laptop slightly askew on his desk, an ominous shape sitting in his chair. Everything was normal.

Well, except for that last one. That one was a bit weird.

It looked like a man. A hooded man, sure, but just a man. It certainly wasn’t the most horrifying thing he had ever seen in a nightmare. Just a guy in a hood that turned in the chair, and with his hood up, his face completely shadowed.

That was a bit weird. But dreams were always different.

The man tilted his head to the side, a strange silver necklace glinting on his collarbone. His skin was so unnaturally pale. It almost looked translucent. Maybe it was. There was a thick blue vein up the side of his neck. Weird.

It was hard to tell, but it felt like it was looking at him. With the way the light was coming in the window, its face shouldn’t have been so shadowed. Dreams were so weird.

“Pathetic despair,” it rumbled, its voice an unholy amalgamation of what seemed like thousands of voices, layered over and over. Men and women, young and old, voices of the ages dripping with suffering. “Fascinating how one individual could be so…disgusting.”

Well that was rude. Dreams weren’t usually that scathing.

“Is this really all you do? Spend the entirety of your existence…unconscious?” It rose from the chair, clasping its hands behind its back. “There is so much to be done to change the path of fate, and yet you lay there and wallow in nothing. Because you are nothing. Because you make no effort to be something.”

Increasingly more critical. He was pretty done with that dream. He just needed to wake up. And with any dream, since he knew it was a dream, he could totally wake himself up.

“No better than worm. Just a warm hunk of flesh, waste of resources, waste of air, waste. Of. Space.” It loomed over him, head tilting to the side, maybe inquisitive. It stared for a long time. Then it shrugged. “Ah, well. No matter. You’ll be a fine incubator, even if you are just a useless nothing.”

Uh. Excuse me?

Straightening up, it gripped the hem of its shirt, lifting it. There was darkness, nothing underneath its shirt. Pitch blackness, and then teeth, and then slithering tentacles, or tongues, or worms. Or something. They wriggled outwards, writhing and twisting and reaching for him.

Ben was a little concerned. He should have woken up by then. He always managed to wake up at that point.

A tentacle slapped down onto his arm. It was hot and slick. He could feel it.

He wasn’t asleep.

It was real. All of it was real. Oh shit. Shit!

“Oh yes,” it crooned, crawling over him, all of its tendrils wrapping over him, searching, crawling, finding every space it could find. “There’s nothing you can do when I’ve got you. And you should know something.”

Ben struggled, strained, trying to do something. Anything. Move. It was sleep paralysis. It wasn’t real. None of it was real. He was dreaming, and he could wake up, and then he could do his homework and completely forget about that weird dream.

“I am here because of you. Not because you are ideal, or special, or worth anything. No. I was attracted to the stench of worthlessness. If you were to, say, be an incubator for my spawn, and to disappear? No one would notice. No one will ever, ever miss you. Which isn’t always a problem. Usually opens up more possibilities for more incubators. Still. I wouldn’t mind some quiet peace for you and me to get real acquainted.”

The creature laughed, it rumbled, it echoed deep down over and over until it seemed like there would never be another sound.


	11. Doom - Stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Slayer is wounded, and for some reason, he goes back to Hayden for help. Not that Hayden is complaining.

He was not designed for that sort of delicate work. Not to make his hands sound like they were poor quality, though. He had the finest appendages, so delicate and skilled, capable of performing the most important of tasks.

Medical care was not something he expected to ever have to do.

But there he was, looking down at the Slayer, who was looking up at him, a hand clamped over a wound on his arm. There was no facial expressions or words, but there was plenty of meaning to be read when he knew the Slayer as well as he did.

And he did know the Slayer well. It was one of his proudest achievements, learning to read the communication tactics of a mute, unholy warrior of ultimate destruction. He understood the Slayer. He could read intent with the slightest shift, the tilt of his head.

Slayer reared back and smashed his fist into Hayden’s hip.

Right, right. He had been standing there for a bit too long, as it was.

“Come along, then,” Hayden grumbled, heading into his office. “The physical violence was not necessary.”

The Slayer didn’t respond. He never would. In all the time that Hayden had known the Slayer, studied everything there was no known about him. He was an expert, after all.

Hayden went to his supply cabinet, sorting through everything he had in there. He hoped he had some antiseptic or something, but no, he found needle and thread.

Who put that in there? He hadn’t had flesh in a very, very long time? Whatever employee that had put that in there was completely misguided, to say the least. Well, all the same, it would come in handy.

“Alright,” Hayden sighed, turning back to the Slayer, only to falter. It took much of his control to not throw what he was holding. “Do you really feel the need to do that?”

The Slayer lifted his head, sitting on the edge of Hayden’s desk, dripping blood on some very important artifacts. But did he care? Of course not. The Slayer did whatever he wanted whenever he wanted, damages be damned.

One of the reasons why Hayden liked him so much. In a purely intellectual manner, of course. He was nothing if not professional.

Sighing, Hayden approached the desk, setting his found supplies on the desk beside the Slayer. There was so little they knew about the Slayer, and while the lack of knowledge usually frustrated him, he was pleased to have the opportunity to have his horizons broadened. By an unholy warrior that defied all definition.

“How did you get this wound, Slayer?” Hayden clicked, moving the Slayer’s hand so he could look over the gash. “It is not like you to be struck like this. And not heal.” Because despite everything, the Slayer had advanced healing capabilities. Probably had to do with that strange armor he wore. If he could have a better opportunity to study that armor, that would be ideal.

Despite everything, despite the lack of response he knew he would get, Hayden threaded the needle. He should sanitize it, but somehow, he knew that the Slayer would be fine.

“I must wonder, though.” Lifting the Slayer’s arm, he punched the needle through his flesh, starting to draw it tight. “Why is it that you came to me? I am quite certain that this is something that you could do on your own.”

The Slayer’s helmet shifted. Perhaps he was looking at Hayden? It was hard to tell. He would check more thoroughly, but he was making a point of focusing on the stitching. He had to do well.

Because as Samuel Hayden, he could only do good work. Yes. That was his reasoning.

The invasion of Hell was unfortunate. It wasn’t something he’d ever wanted to happen, but there it was. He would deal with it as best as he could, but he had to say, there was some good to it. If the invasion hadn’t happened, Hayden would never have had the opportunity to meet the Slayer.

In all his years of life, he had never known that anyone like the Slayer could exist. Mute except for his purpose. He would never fade nor falter, never divert from his task.

Inspiring. If only half of the remaining humans could be a shred of what the Slayer was.

Stitching flesh was strange. It resisted more than he thought it would. It had been a long time since he had flesh of his own. Had it always been so tough? Or was the Slayer made of something different?

Probably both. Hard to tell. And he wasn’t about to ask.

“I appreciate that you came to me. It allows me to…investigate you more. As you are the most fascinating thing about this facility.”

Slayer jerked his arm ever so slightly out of his grip. Disdain for his statement, no doubt. Always hungry for the chance to defend humanity. No matter what happened, no matter what he did, the Slayer would always view humanity above everything else. That alone was insane.

Humanity was so much lesser than the Slayer, than everything else. They were such weak little things. He had been human once, and even the Slayer could be defined as human, but all of that was subjective. Who could truly define what a human was? Was it flesh? The ability to use tools? The ability to love?

Humans were capable of such things as well. Humanity and intelligence could be defined as the ability to take and perform orders with perfection.

Slayer made a point of disobeying Hayden’s orders. He could be defined as an animal because of that.

Still, Hayden would never trade anything for what he had gained with the Slayer. There was an admirable amount of knowledge to be gained, but there was more there, more about feeling, more about the possibility of some kind of relationship. Probably not romantic, but it was something. Gaining something was better than nothing. In all the years of research, Hayden missed interactions the most.

Perhaps there was something with Slayer. It was hard to tell.

He’d just keep stitching until then.


	12. Original Fiction - Don't Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's sappy. Fight me.

“Don’t move.”

A muscle in her jaw twitched, traitorous against the command, rebelling against such a simple request. She started to roll her eyes at herself, but a sharp, warning hiss made even that stop moving.

His skin was rough, scarred on hers. He wasn’t using any of that lotion that she’d bought for him, the shit. She’d even made a point of getting the unscented shit so he didn’t get upset. But no no, he didn’t use it, and his skin was still super rough and probably itchy.

“S’not so bad. Gotten better at it.”

“Well that’s reassuring.” Rolling her eyes downwards, she lifted a brow down at him. “Just for me, or…?”

“Naw. You’re the one that wanted this.” Shifting his jaw, he pushed his toothpick over to the other side of his mouth. Such a simple little movement, paired with him leaning over to dip the needle into the little capful of ink. “Turns out shit, it’s your fault.”

Sure. He said that, but she saw the little quirk at the edge of his lips. Not much, but it was there. Just a hint of what he really thought.

So she couldn’t help reaching up, cupping his cheek, smoothing her thumb over the rasp of his stubble. He allowed it for a second, pushing into it. He was touch hungry all the damn time, but he still brushed her hand away.

“I said don’t move.”

“Sorry.” She bit her lip, fighting the grin.

More ink, more tap-tap-tap. She had a good quality tattoo on her thigh, but she did rather enjoy the concept of Black giving her a stick and poke tattoo. He had a couple, some done by his friends, some he did himself, and she wanted to have a part of that. She wanted to be closer to him, of course.

Swiping the cloth over her ribs, he leaned back, just admiring his work. His head tilted one way, then the other. And then he shrugged.

“As done as it’ll be,” he sighed, tossing the needle aside. “Touch it up when it heals.”

“Yeah?” She started to sit up, attempting to see his work. “Shit, my tit covers it.”

Black snorted, placing his hand on her hip, leaning down so he could place a loud, smacking kiss on her side, right under the tattoo. Her skin tingled from the contact. Whenever he did something simple and sweet like that, she felt so alive, so…motivated.

So she grinned. She grinned so wide, wide enough that he paused in his draw away from her, his brow quirking.

“You like me,” she cooed, pressing her hands to her cheeks, smushing her own face.

He frowned, scowled, turning away. “We’re married.”

Yeah they were. Somehow, impossibly, they were. Even hearing him say it was a thrill, beyond anything that she could have felt. He didn’t love her. He never would, and he told her that. But he liked her enough to keep her around, to see her every day. Something about her made her tolerable enough that he wanted to keep her.

“We are married,” she sang, reaching for him. As much as he wanted to look grumpy about it, he let her hug him, giving in to her kisses that she peppered over his jaw.

Her skin burned at the tattoo, but that was okay. It was a testament to how much her life had changed. She used to hate stick and poke tattoos, but she didn’t mind it when Black gave it to her. Hell, she didn’t even really know what it was that he had done on her, but that was okay.

Because she was in love, and that was what mattered to her.

Grumbling, he turned into her peppered kisses, catching her lips. It was simple, quick, but everything.

She could stay there forever, but he drew back, patting her hip.

“Don’t move,” he mumbled, turning to leave the room.

“Do you ever want me to move? Am I just your pretty statue?”

He grumbled, sweeping out of the room. A man of few words, of course. Still, she’d be stupid not to obey. It gave her a moment to grab her breast, lifting it so she could peer down at the tattoo.

It was a line of possums, one large one and two little ones trailing after. A little family of possums, trotting across her ribs.

It was cartoonish, but still so stupidly cute. Try as he might to be so tough, his art was adorable. There were times he watched her draw, her doodle, and he’d just get so wrapped up in it. She wasn’t good, but he still looked at her art like it was fantastic.

Sometimes, in his soft moments, he showed his own kind of love. Well, affection. When they sat together, in their quiet moments, sometimes she caught him staring at her. There was never much emotion on his face, but she imagined she could feel it. She was probably a little insane from all that shit she’d seen, but that was okay.

Eventually, Black returned grumbling about something or other. He was a little rough when he grabbed her wrist, lifting her hand and shoving something onto her finger.

She wasn’t an idiot. She knew what finger he put it on. When they’d gotten married, it’d just been a quick court visit, with signed papers. It had taken maybe fifteen minutes to get through the whole thing.

What she had then was a ring. It was pale white, carved from some kind of bone. Something he had made. She just knew it.

“You made me a ring,” she breathed, drawing her hand in close, admiring it.

“Don’t read into it too much.”

“We’re married.” And that ring was a testament to that fact. She never really thought she would have a ring. Black didn’t seem the type. Twisting it on her finger, she blinked through the haziness of tears at him. “I love you.”

He grumbled, hooking his arm around her shoulders, drawing her in so he could press a kiss to the top of her head.

Sure, she now had a weird tattoo and lost her pinky finger on her right hand a few months ago, but she was more whole than she had ever been in her entire life.


	13. Original Fiction - Adrenaline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sep wants to connect with Black by learning about his hobbies.

He could share. He could actually share it, and talk about it, and do it and live it and he couldn’t believe it, he couldn’t, he could finally-

“What’s next?”

Her voice startled him, and his resulting twitch made her hands fly up in surrender. Not like he was going to lash out, but she was smart to play it safe. Still, he gripped the steering wheel tight, breathing out steadily, to calm the frantic beating of his heart.

Excitement. The pure rush of an incoming attack, of a hunt, it was intoxicating in the purest sense. Including something more, someone more was a part of it, going to see it, going to be it with him.

“You okay?” Her voice was soft, sweeter than she knew. He had to smile, just a bit. That was enough to make her sigh, her little hand resting on his arm as she tipped in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Okay. So just follow me, and move in whenever you think is best. I trust you and…I mean, you’re better at this than me.” She laughed weakly, running her fingers through her hair.

So nervous. Her heart had to be pounding just as hard as his. He had to know. Unpeeling his fingers from the steering wheel, he reached out to her, pressing two fingers to the side of her neck.

A little flutter, like a baby bird. So soft, so fragile. There were times he was so tempted to wrap his hands around her neck, to choke away such fragile life, such delicate fluttering. But he didn’t. He was sure he would, in time, but for now, he could share something with her that he hadn’t been able to share.

That was enough.

She smiled, patting his hand lightly. “I’ve got this. Just let me do this.”

Right. He gave her a short nod, drawing back, letting her go. She nodded back, then turned and slid out of his truck.

She was so small. It was a bit strange to see her trotting off into the woods on her own, but she had insisted. Somehow, she had insisted on her own. All he could do was let her do it.

Waiting a moment, he soon followed, hopping out of his truck to follow after. He didn’t take the same path, sliding through the brush and the trees, tracking her step to the side.

She knew he would be watching the whole thing, but she couldn’t know from where, from when. She had to perform for him, prove herself. She had somehow insisted that she had to.

It was a game. The best kind of game. A game that he loved, savored, couldn’t do without. Having her be a part of it, having her include herself in his game, in what he enjoyed most was something so strange.

Tucking himself into the brush, he peered past the leaves to a familiar shape.

Her. She paused on the path, exhaling deeply. It was a bit strange, but then she looked down at herself. She pulled up her shirt, tying it in a knot just under her breasts. Fluffing and sorting at her hair, she curled it around her face. Satisfied with herself, she continued on.

A camp. A young man, a young woman, camping. From out of town.

She was good. She greeted them, acted so innocent. They welcomed her readily, inviting her to camp with them, share their fire. They talked, they laughed, and evening started to fall.

In time, she started to braid a section of her hair. That was the signal she had talked about.

They were from out of town. They were perfect.

Her laugh changed, becoming sharper. Nervous. She was losing her hold on it. It was fine. It was all he needed.

Sliding through the brush, he got up behind the man. He could use the knife, but he wanted her to see it all. So he slid out, faster than anyone could track, hooking his arm around the young man’s neck and squeezing hard. But that didn’t matter. He only had eyes for her.

The girl twitched, starting to scream, but she was fast too. Pulling the cord out of her back pocket, she lunged, hooking it around the girl’s neck, double looping it and pulling tight. The response was immediate, the gurgle, the fighting. But she knew better. She pressed her knee in the center of the girl’s shoulders and hauled back, pulling as tight as she could.

Yes. Yes! Black wheezed, trying to laugh, trying to breathe, but he could only watch her. She grit her teeth, she strained to hold on against the thrashing, the fighting. It wasn’t anything she had done before, but she was a pro already.

The body in his arms had already started to slow. The girl turned red, then purple, eyes rolling back, sounds weak, tongue protruding from her mouth as it started to swell. No blood flow, no air, nothing, all because of her, of that cord, of her strength and her fighting.

And all at once, there was nothing. She gasped, falling with the body, the two of them tumbling down. Still, she shoved at the body, rolling it over so she could look at the face, checking for any kind of life. When she found none, she looked up to him, checking for his confirmation.

“Good girl,” he purred, tossing the body aside so he could lunge for her, cupping her face. “My cher, you did it.”

“I did. I did do it.” She grinned, tears beading in her eyes. “I did do it!”

“Cher,” he cooed again, kissing her. His body already ran hot, so hot. The thrill, the adrenaline, seeing her kill was all too much. She ran against his nerves sometimes, but she’d made an effort to join in with him. It was enough that she already wanted to hear about his other victims, his other partners.

Now she was with him, truly.

She was perfect.


	14. Original Fiction - Tear-Stained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If she's so miserable there, why does she stay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so obsessed with a fictional man~

Different types of water made different kinds of stains. Silly sort of thing. It really had to do what was in the water, but it was really just the water, wasn’t it?

Water from the swamp made clothes oddly crunchy and stiff. Water from the tap felt weirdly silty at times, and it grated the skin. Water from the sky cut tracks in the dirt everywhere.

Water from her eyes stained the pillows.

He didn’t care. She could cry all she wanted. She was the one that came back, anyways. Whatever pain she felt, whatever sadness still lingered in her was her own damn fault.

She sang more than before. It was marginally better than before. At least there was that. She sang in the day, cooked, cleaned, cuddled up to him, but at night, at his side, she wept into her pillow.

Tying the last of the thread tight, Black turned over the lure in his hands. His old one was working fine, but it was always nice to mix things up a little, see if he caught any more fish than normal. It was something he had liked doing with his Mama when she was still alive, making new lures, trying them out.

“Black, sweetheart, last I checked we had a big bag of jerky in the cabinet, and now it’s not there, and I’m pretty sure even you couldn’t eat all of that. Seriously, it was like five pounds.” The rattle from inside the kitchen increased in volume, followed by some cursing. “Susie, seriously, get the fuck out of here, I’m doing shit.”

Black rolled his eyes, turning to sort through his bits and bobs in his tackle box. Maybe he had a few more sparkly things to put on that new lure. He had some time to fish that evening. Could just relax, drink some beer, and think about nothing.

“Black.” More thudding, and the screen door popped open, and she leaned out, peering at him. “Do you know what happened to the jerky?”

He side-eyed her, continuing to thread the lure together.

Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look, I was just trying to find a snack for you because dinner is taking forever. I wanted to make sure you had something to snack on until dinner was ready. So, you know, you don’t shove me or something. Because you do that, you know. You shove me when you’re hungry. Like a child.”

“Cheeky,” he grumbled, setting the finished lure aside.

“Yeah. Cheeky. So what happened to the jerky?”

“Took it to work. Shared it.”

“Aww, well, that’s cool. Did your coworkers like it?” She stepped out onto the porch fully, dragging her hair back into a tie behind her head. “I felt like I might have used too much red pepper on the marinade. I kind of tweaked the recipe.”

So fucking chatty. Still, he just grumbled when she came up beside him, dipping down to kiss his cheek.

“Oh, that’s a new lure.”

“Mmhm. It’s…” It looked a lot like one his Mama used to make a lot, now that he thought about it. Huh.

The long pause dragged on, but as always, she filled the gaps, stroking her nails over his scalp, scratching lightly. “Well, I think it looks good. Whenever you’re done, you’re welcome to come in and have a taste test for me. I’m trying out a gumbo recipe I found in that journal. That one I found above the fridge?”

Mama’s cookbook. He pulled it down sometimes. It was hard to tell how he felt about her touching it. She was always careful with his shit, but it was his. It was special. It was his Mama’s. One of his last pieces of her.

The silence stretched longer.

“I’m being really careful with it. The book, the recipe. I want it to be true to the recipe, though I’m sure that comes with practice. I’ll get good at it.” She kept combing, trying to straighten his curls. “There were a lot of stains on those pages. Well used.”

“Mama’s best recipe,” he mumbled, closing his tacklebox. “My favorite.”

“Yeah? Then I hope it’s good. Come on in and tell me how bad I’m making it.”

Sighing, Black hoisted himself up, casting a glance down at her. She was so small, her stance crooked. She wasn’t wearing her fucking knee brace. Her own damn fault. Still, she had that light in her eyes, and he let her take his hand and haul him inside.

He was immediately struck by the scent of spices. In an instant, he was back to the past, back to when he was a kid, sitting at the kitchen table, swinging his feet and playing with little plastic animals as his Mama stood at the stove, stirring a giant pot of gumbo. She’d come and give him a big bowl and a kiss on the forehead. He missed that.

“It just needs to simmer for another fifteen minutes, I think.” She trotted up to the pot, stepping up on her little stool to peer down into the pot. “Smell about right?”

He couldn’t really say anything about it. He just enjoyed the smell of it. She was useful to have around, anyways. He wouldn’t tell her, but he was glad that she came back.

“So. I was thinking that tomorrow, after work, you and me could go down to the market? I think there’s going to be an art display and I’d like to see if there’s a jewelry booth. I’d like a necklace and-”

“Why the fuck you cry at night?” He spat. Sure, he was on edge. The smell of the dinner, the lures, all of it had him on edge. It crawled up and down his spine, creating more and more tension with each pass.

She blinked dumbly at him, her arm continuing to move, to stir the pot. “I don’t.”

“What you mean you don’t? Your pillow is always soaked. You hate it here so much, why you come back?” He was yelling. That was new. “If you fuckin hate me, then-”

“Black.” Hopping down from the stool, she came over to him, reaching up for his face. He reared back, but she tsked, grabbing his shirt, tugging until he leaned down so she could cup his face with both hands, smoothing her thumbs over his cheeks.

It was wet. His face was wet.

“You’ve been crying in your sleep,” she whispered, drawing him down further. He went easily, pressing his forehead to her shoulder. “I’ve just been holding you when you cry. I figure it’s just been bad dreams. Are you okay?”

Oh. That was…different.

He had been thinking of his Mama a lot lately. Dreaming of her.

He choked, curling inwards.

“Oh baby, it’s okay. Let it out. I’m here.”

Oh fuck her. But also, okay.

Fine.


	15. Original Fiction - Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cooper continues to try and avoid his daughters without any success.

They ached sometimes. Usually when he spent too much time worrying about something.

Rubbing his hand over his chest, Cooper stared at the far wall for a while. He really needed to finish scraping that hide. If he let the flesh sit too long, then the hide would turn to shit and he really, really couldn’t cut any corners.

Ugh. Ignore it.

Leaning forward, he picked up his knife again, resuming his work. If he remembered correctly, he had another client coming in later. Something about a dog that they wanted to have stuffed. Those made him uncomfortable, but it was his job, and he had no place to question it.

Let the dead rest. Let their bodies become the earth and sleep.

The bell on his front door jingled. Honestly, he hated when that thing rang, but it was good to know when there was someone there. One time, he didn’t go up there fast enough. Someone tried to steal from him once.

Only once.

Setting his knife aside, he rose from his stool, shuffling out from the back. His parted his lips to say something, a greeting, but that choked off.

Oh for fuck’s sake.

Delilah and Sloane stood by the front counter, speaking quietly. Two women that he could not, for the life of him, get rid of. People he didn’t want to see, people he wanted nothing to do with, and there they were, coming back, time and time again because they were stubborn. Or he wasn’t off-putting enough.

His scars throbbed.

“The fuck are you two doin here?” He growled, stomping up to the counter. “One possession not enough for you?”

Delilah and Slone’s eyes met, then both rolled in opposite directions, then landed on him. Twins, definitely.

“That’s all in the past,” Sloane tsked, flapping her hand. “Delilah’s better, we’re not dead, we want more.”

“We want you to show us more.”

“No.” No hesitation. Nope. Not going to happen.

“Oh come on. We’ll pay-”

“How do you two have so much money?” Dragging another stool up to the counter, he sank down onto it. He was rubbing his chest again. His scars were pulsing. Fuck.

“We have our ways. Come on. We know you’re magic, and we want in. We can do it.” Delilah leaned on the counter, smacking her gum, grinning at him like she knew the world.

She was cocky, like he used to be. They were going to get themselves killed that way, and he was not going to be a part of it. He wouldn’t be like her, not like her, never like her.

The pain flared, and he hissed, hunching over. His heart fluttered like it knew, receding inwards, hiding away behind his ribs. Not like her. If they would just leave him alone, they’d be safe, she’d be decent, and it’d be okay.

“Whoa, hey, are you-”

“Why won’t you just leave me alone?” He snarled. He knew the scar at the edge of his lips exposed more teeth than it should. “I’m tryin to help you, and you just keep comin back and fuck you.”

“So what’s your problem with us? Hm? We’re paying. Don’t you want money?”

“I don’t want to get you killed. Fuckin with me will get you killed.” In more ways than they knew. The demonic attack hadn’t been enough for them. He just knew that if they stuck around, he’d be just like his mother, he’d hurt them.

“Dramatic,” Sloane sighed, striding behind the counter like she owned the place. “I’m sure it’s fine. You’re a big boy. You can handle teaching two girls a thing or two about magic.” She came up beside him. She put her hand on his shoulder, sliding it up to the back of his neck. Stroking him.

Oh fuck. Oh no.

Swatting her hand away, he fairly tumbled off of his stool, trying to get away from her. They didn’t know, couldn’t know that they were his daughters. Why would their mother mention it? Probably never said his name to them. Just said he was a deadbeat that disappeared the moment she announced he’d gotten her pregnant.

His scars were on fire. There was no focusing on anything else. He couldn’t breathe. He had to get away.

Lunging for the back of his shop, he wheezed. He was drooling. He was a cornered animal, stumbling back to the sink in his workspace. Tearing off his shirt, he turned on the cold tap, splashing the water on his chest, across his torso. It helped. A little.

“Whoa. Those are brutal.”

Oh for fuck’s sake, they followed him.

“How did you get those?” Another hand on his back, but it was different. An attempt to be soothing. “Are you okay?”

Nope. He was not okay.

Another hand pressed to his shoulder, coaxing him into straightening up. He was sweating. He was dizzy, he was out of his mind. He couldn’t handle it.

A cool hand pressed over the ragged scar on his chest. The heat immediately faded, like her skin sucked the pain out of it. Another hand joined the first one, and all the pain melted away.

When he looked down, he saw that each of them had a hand on the scar over his heart. The ragged, dark etchings of his mother’s folly, of her failure to destroy him in the name of her god.

He didn’t want to be like her. He could never be like her. Please.

“I’ll hurt you,” he wheezed, pressing his prosthetic hand over both of theirs. “I know I will. I won’t be able to help it. I’ll end up killing you.”

“You’re welcome to try,” Sloane cooed, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

“We’re tougher to kill than you’d think,” Delilah laughed, grinning up at him. “Now just fucking teach us some magic so you can be rid of us.”

They were insane. All three of them were fucking insane. But what else could he do? They weren’t going to leave him alone.

If he was lucky, he wouldn’t give them a single scar like the ones he had. He was going to do everything in his power to keep them safe.

He had no confidence that he would succeed.


	16. Original Fiction - Pinned Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forrest finds himself in another fucked up situation, and not one that Ivan can just come save him from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forrest and Ivan belong to NuclearGers, just like Black does. Let me defile all of her characters yiss

The world was a joke. It hates him, life hated him, he couldn’t believe it was happening. Who could believe it? No one would. It was the classic case of it-would-never-happen-to-me-not-to-me, to be long winded about it.

But there was no understating it.

Forrest sniffled, dragging the length of his arm under his nose. He felt it drag, stick, gummy with half dry tears and snot. He knew he should be strong, be tough about it. He’d been in battle. He’d seen explosions, people die, but being locked in a dim room, with flickering lights, alone…

That was something new.

Ivan would tell him to toughen up, but kindly. Everything about Ivan was about making him better. His mentor, his rock, his life. Ivan wanted him to be better, would do anything to make sure he was better. He knew about the flashbacks, his triggers.

What would Ivan do in that situation? Did he even know he was gone? Oh god, he might think that he just ran off again. Still, he could come looking for him. No matter where he went, he would try to find him.

That was a comfort, but it wasn’t much. Especially when he heard the thud of boots coming down the hallway.

Please, please let them pass him by. Whimpering, he hid his face against his knees.

His luck was gone. The door popped open, harsh light washing in. He wanted to scream, but he just curled up tighter. No matter how he cowered, there would be no hiding, no resisting the men there.

The thud of boots approached him, and all he could do was scream when big hands grabbed at his arms, hauling him to his feet. The men who grabbed him were huge, burly men with ski masks and tight black clothes. He could see nothing of them, no defining features, just blank, dead eyes as they dragged him out.

The hall was nondescript, lined with closed doors. Were there more people in there? More victims? He wanted to know, just to see if other people were going through the same thing. Maybe they had it worse?

Worse than what? All he had was being dragged down a hallway.

But hallways typically led to rooms, and he was led to a room. It was so brightly lit, blinding, too much. He stumbled, his toes barely scraping the ground when they brought him to a wall, dropping him in front of it. When he slumped to the floor, one of them swatted the back of his head, then grabbed him, hauling him back up to the feet.

Okay, what the fuck was he supposed to do? They whipped him around, shoved his back against the wall, and then left him.

Blinking quickly, his eyes finally adjusted to the light. The first thing he noted was that there were other people there. There were other people! Against the wall with him, lined up just like him, their hands clasped in front of them. Turning his head was probably a bad idea, so he did his best to just side eye them.

Some were crying, some stared blankly forward. The ones who were so impassive had so many bruises, black eyes, rings around their throats. They looked a mess, less than human.

Where the fuck was he? What was this? What had he been doing before?

Okay. He wasn’t alone. That was okay, right? He looked forward again, and that was when his heart dropped into his belly.

Cameras. There were cameras fixed on all of them.

As if on cue, there was the slow, mechanical thud of boots again. And from behind the lights came a figure, a hooded man, his hands clasped behind his back. He approached until he stood in the center of the room, only to turn on his heel, facing the cameras. There was another moment, just a quiet moment.

The man’s arms snapped wide open, a welcome, a beckoning to something.

“Welcome back, viewers!” His voice boomed, too loud in that space. “Welcome back to another installment of The Stock. Really, I must thank you all for your continued patronage. Due to your loyal support, we’ve been able to afford new Stock for your viewing pleasure.”

Someone in the line sobbed softly. Oh no.

“As you can see, we have some fresh new faces for you to choose from. Shall we take a look?” Turning on his heel once more, the hooded man went to one end to the line. “Here we have an old favorite, named in a recent viewer poll. Reintroducing, Goatse!”

What kind of name was Goatse? What was happening? What did they do there? Was it a dark web thing? Oh god, it was probably a dark web thing. The cameras? The masks? The fact that he’d been fucking kidnapped?

He was so out of it that before he knew it, that man stood beside him.

He should have known that under that hood, there was a mask. Unlike the other two that brought him in, that man had a perfectly smooth black mask, a red slash down the right side, devoid of eye holes. How he could see out of it, he had no idea.

“And here we have our latest acquisition. He’s a cute one, I must say. Look at those eyes. Like little moons.” A gloved hand caught his jaw, squeezing hard, hard enough that bone seemed to creak.

They moved on, and all he wanted to do was break down. Be strong. Don’t falter. More words were said, but he couldn’t track them. He was shaking, holding in tears, holding in the sounds he wanted to make.

“We have a winner! Excellent choice, viewers. With a winning bid of 12.5 thousand dollars, we have our newest boy on the line. Bring him in!”

Hands clamped on his shoulders, and he screamed. It awoke the animal in him, and he kicked, and he screamed, but they were so much bigger than him, stronger than him. They dragged him in and shoved him, pinning him down on the floor, his face hard against the concrete.

“Now, for your viewing pleasure, we will be testing our new boy out. Let’s see what kind of breeding stock we’ve added to our stables!”

Before that could process, the two men started to tear at his clothes.

Forrest screamed for all he was worth, but there was nothing he could do while pinned down. He was along for the ride, whether he liked it or not.


	17. Original Fiction - Stay With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forrest isn't out of the woods yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I had fun torturing a twink so sue me

Every inch of skin burned. Throbbed. Pulsed.

He understood the bruises now.

A boot planted on his side, kicking him over. He went easily, slumping to the cold stone floor. Oh, wait, there was a warm spot. What was that? Probably his urine. He pissed himself recently.

“And there you have it, viewers! We got a good one. A keeper, I think.” That damn man was still speaking. “Jay and Kay did excellent work on our new boy. Worked him through his paces. If I wasn’t spoken for, I’d have a turn with him. Ah, well, maybe if there’s a high enough bid.”

Boots approaching, a shift, and a hand on his jaw. Forrest groaned, eyes rolling in their sockets.

“You did so well, breeding boy. You took them like you were made for it. Maybe you were.” The man tsked, shoving him down.

Forrest’s head hit the ground with a smack. It rang in his skull, and the urge to vomit only grew. His mouth tasted like blood and salt, semen and actual feces. Ass to mouth, ass to mouth, they didn’t care. He was a toy, their plaything, and they ruined him.

“That’s it for our main show. Those who want to continue watching need to make a small contribution of one thousand dollars, and you will be provided with another link to watch the aftercare of our breeding bitch. There’s already a poll loaded up there, so go ahead and start voting on what you want us to do for our boy. As always, thank you so much for tuning in. I’ve been Ravage. To those following over to the next show, be nice to Savage! She’s in such a mood today. See you next time!”

It wasn’t over? How was it not over?

One of those massive men hauled him up. His body was limp, there was no fight left. They just dragged him out of that room, and on to another one.

It was the dehydration that kept him from continuing to cry. He just laid there, like a corpse. Probably for a long time. His entire body ached. He felt a breeze in a place he shouldn’t feel a breeze. He understood that one person’s nickname now.

More boots. For fuck’s sake.

“Oh, a new one for me!” A woman’s voice, so sickly sweet. “Hello, premium viewers. Thank you so much for joining me. I must say, I am pleased to be handed a new toy to take care of. Come here, darling.”

Much softer hands pushed is shoulders, coaxing him into flopping onto his back. He made a weak sound in the back of his throat, earning him a soft coo.

“Now look at this boy. Such a sweet face. I didn’t get to watch the show earlier. I trust all of you were nice to this boy, hm?”

There was a pause, and then she laughed. It was bright, like ringing bells, but there was nothing funny or happy about anything. 

“We must wash him up! I was thinking a nice bath, but that wasn’t on the poll. Let’s take a look at what you all voted for.”

Forrest blinked, clearing the tears and the gunk from his eyes. He was in a room so much like before, concrete, brightly lit, too bright, but there was more in it. There were racks, tables. A torture room.

And by one of the tables, peering at a screen was a feminine shape. She was dressed just like Ravage, in the same dark clothes with a hood. And when she turned, she had a similar black mask with a red slash through the opposite side. An opposing twin to Ravage. Ravage and Savage, haha.

“Looks like you all voted on the hose! Excellent choice. I did just get a new hose attachment that gets the pressure nice and high.” She stomped her way back over, kneeling by his side. “Hello there, darling. Are you ready to get clean?”

Clean? Somehow, he felt like that wasn’t normal. He wouldn’t hold his breath.

“Come along!” Scooping her hands under his arms, she hauled him up with absolute ease. She was stronger than she looked, dragging him across the floor, closer to the tables. She was humming under her breath, so bright and so happy as she dropped him on the floor.

Not very gentle. Forrest groaned, struggling to get some kind of strength to his limbs. He had to do something. People got raped all the time, and they rose back up. He couldn’t let it break him. He had to get up, do something! She was smaller than Ravage, and those two big guys weren’t there. Maybe he could fight her? He was former military. He could be tough.

“Oh, this will look so good on you.” She crouched by him, sliding something around his throat. At the first clink of a buckle, panic flooded him a moment too late.

She tightened the collar too tight, making him gasp, legs kicking weakly.

“He likes it! Look at him wiggle. He likes it so much.” Sighing wistfully, she reached up, grabbing a chain that had dangled above the two of them. Dragging it down, she hooked it to his collar. He knew what it was even before she stepped away, gripping the rest of the chain, hauling on it.

He had no choice but to go with the chain as it lifted, yanking at his neck, gagging him. She just kept hauling him up, higher and higher until only his toes touched the ground, and he could only gurgle and grab at the collar.

“Such a skinny boy. I would say we should feed him better, but food is only for good boys.” Savage sashayed into view, holding a hose in her hand, swinging the nozzle. “Now be a good boy.”

The water pressure was insane. It burned, it pounded his muscles and he somehow found it in himself to scream, to howl in agony. He tried to kick, but he couldn’t breathe, wheezing and screaming and he didn’t know when he started to lose himself.

He only knew it when her hand clamped on his face, squeezing so hard.

“Stay with me,” she sang, shaking him so hard his neck popped. “The fun’s only just begun!”


	18. Original Fiction - Muffled Scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forrest might get out alive. Just maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY ITS LATE ALSO SOMEONE TELL ME TO STOP TORTURING FORREST

Sleep was no comfort. Not when there was that much pain. Nightmares, memories of the minutes, the hours, the days that he had been there. He didn’t know. It was hard to tell.

It seemed like there were always cameras, always bright lights. At some point, they fed him? Because he was good. He was a good boy and got face fucked, and screamed and puked and took so many cocks because he was a good boy, he was only a good boy because good boys got food and water.

Ivan had to be looking for him. He had to be safe soon, right? Soon, Ivan would be there, and he could recover, and it could all be put behind him. It would be okay. He would be okay.

Curled in the corner of his room, Forrest shivered, curling up tighter. He didn’t deserve any of that. No one deserved that torture, and especially not him. He’d served their country. He’d fought, and he’d tried to be good, but he was always bad, always made to suffer.

If only he could be back in his cabin with Ivan. Hunting, tracking, skinning his catches and sitting by the fire with Ivan. He liked the way the warm light looked on Ivan’s weathered face. He liked going fishing with him, when he got that look in his eyes and grabbed Forrest, pulled him close, held him down.

What would Ivan say when he saw him? How would he respond when he saw the scars? The blood? The gape in his fucking asshole because he was a ruined little fucktoy?

Choking on a sob, Forrest pressed a shaking hand over his face. Life wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

Normally, there were thudding steps approaching. Normally, he knew that they made sure he was as afraid as possible.

That time, his door screeched open without any kind of approach. Just his sobbing, then the opening door.

A scream lifted from his throat, somehow, a protest of something, but the person in the doorway lunged, weight thudding onto him, a hand clamping over his mouth. That only served to terrify him more, make him kick and scream as loud as he could behind that hand.

“Silence, you fool,” his attacker hissed, breath hot over his ear. “Or do you want them to know I am here?”

Ivan? No. Not Ivan. A deep, drawling southern voice. Unfamiliar. Still, he inhaled, wheezed, trying to choke down his screams.

“There we go. Better. Now.” The hand didn’t loosen, that weight still smothering him. “You want out of here? You do as I say. Nothing else. Do you understand?”

Forrest nodded quickly, opening crusty eyes. With the light coming in through the door, he could only see the shape of a head. A stranger.

“I cannot let them suspect anything. If I let you walk out on your own, they will know. So I must drag you. You must lay limp. You must act a victim. You can do that, can’t you?”

Another nod. Whoever that was, he owed them.

“Okay then. Just be a ragdoll, and I will take care of the rest. Trust me.”

What choice did he have? He just nodded, and kept his limbs loose, even when a thick hand clamped on his wrist, hauling him towards the door. His limbs slid through the various fluids that had come out of him. He didn’t want to know.

The hallway was cold, rough on his hip and legs as he dragged. Honestly, it felt kind of nice to be dragged. It meant he didn’t have to worry about anything else. He just needed to trust. He supposed, whatever he was being dragged to couldn’t be as bad as everything else he had been through. Whoever Savage and Ravage were, there were no more horrible people in the world. The glee they felt in the torture they inflicted was disgusting.

If he made it out of there alive, he would never forget those masks. The black masks, the red slashes. Ravage was big, strong, and Savage was short, soft. If he could remember enough details, maybe they could be brought to justice somehow.

But for now, he just wanted to survive. He had to survive.

“Shit,” the man breathed, jerking him aside. “What’s he doing here?”

He didn’t want to know that. Nope. He didn’t want to hear that, and he certainly didn’t want whatever bullshit that was threatening whatever rescue he was getting.

Boots. He hated those fucking boots. But there was a breath, a soft laugh.

“Well, what are you doing with our new boy?”

He knew that voice. Ravage. That fucking announcer voice. He knew that evil.

“I was told to take the new boy to be outfitted.” Whoever his rescuer was, he spoke confidently. Carried the lie.

“Oh? We have new plans for him?” Ravage tsked, crouching down at his side. “You’ve been a fine addition to the Stock. When the audience tires of you? I do hope they pick a good end to you.” Gloved fingers trailed over his belly, his skin shivering and jerking away from the touch. “I do hope they want me to gut you. I would love to see your pretty guts spill all over my cock as I fuck your intestines. Would you like that? My come on your liver?”

Forrest bit his lip, holding in his scream. Don’t bite him, down lunge, don’t act like an actual animal. Just act like a corpse. That was what he was told to do.

“It’s a shame that Savage will want to have fun with you first. Hard to get your dick hard when your guts are out. Then again, she could just dildo the fuck out of you. She’s got some lovely toys, you know.”

“I can’t keep her waiting, sir. I must get him to be fitted.” His savior continued to drag him onwards, keeping the same steady pace.

It was okay. He was going to get out of there. Whoever was saving him was going to get him to safety, and he wasn’t going to get gutted and fucked, and it was okay.

“Oh Cooper,” Ravage called back through the hallway. “You have about five minutes before Savage realizes you took her toy away. You had best finish up your little…rescue attempt before she comes for you.”

Oh god, they already knew it was a lie. They were caught, they were going to die, oh fuck-

His savior just sighed, continuing on at the same pace, like they hadn’t just been threatened.

Like it was normal.

They were so fucked.


	19. Original Fiction - Asphyxiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an old village, a monster is captured to be studied. A young girl doth protest.

She’d heard tales. She’d wanted them to be true, but she never did think that they would be real. Fanciful tales, creatures from legend. She’d so wished, dreamed of them, thought that maybe if there was a spirit to whisk her away, then her life would be worth living.

Despite the horror of it, she could only stare in wonder at the hunched shape in the cage. It shuddered, breathed hard, its wings up to protect itself from sight.

An actual gargoyle. She’d heard the stories, looked up at the castle and thought about if they were real, but there one was, alive.

“Disgusting, unholy creature. They should have shattered it where it slept.”

September cast a glance at the woman beside her. She wasn’t sure if the woman was speaking to her or just into the air, but she didn’t like it all the same. How could anyone think to kill something that no one understood? It deserved a chance to be studied, supported. Surely it hadn’t hurt anyone, right?

The worst part was that such sentiments of death were being echoed around the crowd. It was silly. The gargoyles on the church were celebrated for protecting the holy place, but one that was alive was to be abhorred? It made no sense.

Well, at least the village hadn’t conspired to kill it yet. She had some chance to look at it, at least.

As if on cue, the priest mounted the few stairs up to the stage, backed by a few of the guards of the town. The priest strutted out in front of the cage, his eyes closed as if in meditation. It was supposed to look like peaceful contemplation while the guards went about grabbing the chains that draped off of the creature.

With a snap, the priest spread his arms wide, startling some of the crowd into gasping. He continued, undeterred by their shock.

“The Lord has blessed us on this day, by allowing us to see the face of that which we must fear. With the aid of our faith and in the power of our guards, we were able to capture this monster and bring it to light!”

On some predetermined cue, the guards hauled on the chains as one, just as one of them dragged the cage door open.

The creature inside sprang into life, slamming its wings down and launching itself out of the door. It managed to leap upwards just a few feet before the slack on the chain ran out, and the guards yanked hard, dragging it back to the stage, slamming it down. It only stayed there a moment before it bounced back up to its feet, beating its wings wildly, straining forward against the chains, looming out over the edge of the stage.

All planned, of course. She knew that much. Still, she looked up in wonder at the creature.

It was beautiful. Muscular, formed in the image of a man, it had grand horns and massive wings. It was as terrifying as it was fascinating, and she could stare at it all day.

“This unholy creature is a being of the Devil, and has come to corrupt us! We were fortunate to have captured it in such a perfect condition, so that we may study it to better defend ourselves from possible future attacks.”

Study it? She would like to help study it. It was fascinating, especially in how it strained with no sense of self preservation. The chain around its throat was shockingly tight. So tight that she could honestly see the creature’s face growing much too discolored.

It was choking itself. Sure, it was captured and held against its will, but it was going to kill itself that way. There was a shuddering wheeze, but still it struggled and strained as hard as it could. It would sooner kill itself than stop trying to escape.

“Have faith that we will master everything that there is to know about this beast, and-”

“Stop!” She screamed before she could think to stop, scrambling at the stage, hoisting herself up. “You’re killing him!” There wasn’t much planning as she threw herself into the gargoyle’s chest, making it stumble back. The chain was still too tight around its throat, so she reached up and scrabbled around it, trying to loosen it at least a little.

“What are you doing, fool girl?” The priest was shouting at her. She could hear that much.

None of that mattered, as the gargoyle slammed its wings down around them both, cocooning them in together.

Not entirely expected, but okay. She hadn’t thought it out, and that was what happened when she didn’t think. Bad things happened.

“You will save me,” the gargoyle snarled, close to her ear. “Get me out of here.”

It spoke? It spoke! It spoke to her! She gasped in delight, trying to look up at the creature, but it was so dark within that cocoon.

“You are intelligent! You speak! I want-”

“Get. Me. Out!” The beast snarled, breath washing over her face. “They will kill me!”

Right. Focus. But what was she to do? She was just a weaver, no one in their village. With old fears, there would be no reasoning with them. She had to be clever.

“Trust me,” she gasped, then shoved the beast in the chest. She knew she was not strong enough to do it on her own, but she had surprise on her side, and it served to make the beast stumble back a step. “Kneel, beast!”

It blinked at her, confused for sure, but it still knelt down all the same. It was definitely an intelligent creature. It caught on quick.

“You will obey me, beast,” she continued, trying to keep her voice strong and loud, and confident. Hopefully the priest was stupid.

The priest gasped dramatically, strutting out in front of them to wave wildly. “Behold! The purity of a young maid can tame the evil soul of the beast!”

Oh good, he was stupid. She grinned down at the gargoyle, but it just rolled its eyes. Whatever. At least they had some chance.


	20. Original Fiction - Trembling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An AU where Black managed to summon a demon in his youth, and used her for wishes. One day, he comes up with a wish that she cannot perform.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This almost became porn I resisted the urge

She used to be summoned by great priestesses, by warlords and those with great ambition.

Her current situation was less than ideal, but it would do.

The selection of rocks before her was unimpressive, but she could only settle with what she had. Picking up the darkest rock, she stacked it on top of the other pile. Organizing her rocks was the most entertaining thing she had in that shed.

Because she had been summoned by a child and left in a shed for him to come back and complain to whenever he wanted something from her.

She’d already stacked all of the broken boards, all of the rusty nails, and all of the dead leaves. Stacking the rocks never took that much time. Holy fuck, she was bored as all hell. If only her stupid child human summoner would come see her more often. As much as he was an irritating little infant, he was something interesting.

Ugly little creature. Gangly, discolored, he was a strange little human. Still, more interesting than other humans that had summoned her, even if the location was less that desirable.

Her ear pricked up at the sound of crashing through the brush outside of the shed. It could have been an animal, but somehow, she knew it wasn’t. She perked up, looking expectantly towards the door.

Just as she hoped, the little human burst in the door, breathing hard. Very hard, actually, but that was nothing new. Sometimes he was so excited to come and see her that he ran the whole way.

Couldn’t let him know that she was happy to see that little human. That wouldn’t do well for her reputation.

So she sighed, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she stood. “Welcome back, little human. Tell me your wish so that I may be done with you.”

The human’s breath shuddered, then choked.

And then he sobbed.

Blinking quickly, she stared at his form in the doorway. She hadn’t heard that sound from him before. Every moment with him had been very aggressive, confrontational. To hear him make such a sound was…alarming.

With a flick of her hand, she lit every pathetic candle in that little shed, their flames licking higher with the air of her magics. The light was not ideal, but it was enough.

Tears streaked from red, swollen eyes. His teeth were gritted, as if in pain, his chest jerking, heaving, every moment seeming to be a struggle. If he was pathetic before, there was nothing to compare to that moment.

“Human?”

“Bring her back,” he rasped, hands clenched into fists at his side. “I wish for you to bring her back.”

“Bring who back, child?” If she could step out of that summoning circle, she would. Something about it made her muscles twitch and ache with the need to move closer to him.

“My mama. Bring her back. Bring her back now!”

With those tears, there was only one of two things that could have happened. She had a suspicion, but she had to be sure. So she crossed her arms under her bosom, narrowing her eye at him.

“Bring her back from where, child?”

“From…from heaven? From death! Bring her back.”

Oh. Oh no. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I cannot, child. That is outside of my powers.”

He blinked the tears stopping for only a moment, his shoulders drooping. Shock, sure, but that awoke into rage, his teeth gritting again that she could swear that she heard them squeak.

“You said you were strong. Why can’t you bring her? You can do anything!”

“Death escapes me, child. If I were beside her body, I could bring back a soulless slave, but it would not be your mother. Her soul is beyond my grasp. She has passed on.”

“Bring her back! Bring her back!” He started to scream, to rage, to spit and froth and tears, and snot, and everything was a mess as he clenched his fists, thudding them against the sides of his head. “My mama, mama, mama-”

For the first time in centuries, for the first time she could remember, her heart thudded with agony for the boy. He had started to grow into adulthood, but seeing him like that, so broken, so weak, she whined. She couldn’t help it.

“I cannot bring back your mother, child. But…but I can hold you.” She opened her arms to him. “Come to me, child. Let me embrace you.”

He squinted at her through his tears, but ultimately, he lurched forward, throwing himself into her circle and into her arms. His arms clamped around her middle, squeezing tight just as those tears began anew, as he started to wail and sob.

“Oh child,” she cooed, cupping the back of his head, letting him hide his face in her bosom. “I am so sorry. This pain you feel…I do not like it.”

He was without hearing at that point. He was a child without his mother, encased only in tears and misery. He went with her when she knelt, allowing himself to be bundled up in her lap, in her arms. He was a gangly boy, not yet an adult, with too long limbs and a grief for his mother that she did not know existed in humanity anymore.

He kept saying ‘mama’. Her heart could not take it. She did not know what to do for him, how to tend to him. There were only his tears, his misery.

She had to comfort him. But she was a demon, a creature of hell, and knew no comforts beyond those of the carnal sort. And honestly, coming on to a grieving child did not feel right.

All she knew was to hold that trembling child in her arms, rocking him slightly. She supposed it meant something that he was willing to come into her arms. He knew well enough that she could hurt him within her summoning circle, but he still held her, still allowed her to comfort him.

She was not cut out for that sort of thing. But she did feel better to be able to provide some kind of reassurance to a mourning human child.


	21. Original Fiction - Laced Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sloane and Delilah must kill more men to awaken their magic...or so they think?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a request from my sister lol she really don't like Delilah or Sloane I think she wanted them to get drugged

They could go to another town to try it out, but they weren’t much for traveling. They really just needed to get that shit done as fast as possible.

Suspicions were rising. A few people had been reported missing. They just had two more to do, and then they would have killed enough to activate their magics. It was what that witch doctor said: spill enough blood, and they would be witches as they were always meant to be.

Especially since that stupid taxidermist wouldn’t train them. They knew he was strong with magic, but no, he fought and resisted the whole thing. If he just shared his knowledge, then all those people didn’t have to die.

Oh well. He was as stubborn as he was adorable.

“What else do we have to do?” Sloane breathed softly to Delilah, casting a glance over the bra. “Everyone is too paranoid to sneak off with us immediately.”

Well, they could try and get a man drunk. That took time, though. That was a problem. They didn’t have time. Killing and disposing of bodies took a lot of time, and they had to make sure to complete their murders before the morning came.

So they had to hurry. Another body for another night, and they would be one step closer to their magical destiny.

“I’ve got this under control,” Delilah chuckled, leaning closer to her sister. “I want you to pick a target, though.”

“What? Why me?” Slone dragged some of her hair over her shoulder, fiddling with it. “I’ve never-”

“Because you need to participate a little bit more. Do you really think that our magics will be so tame once we awaken them? No. We need to be ready to do the worst. So.”

Sloane tsked. She’d always been the gentler one of the two of them. It was hard to tell what had made her that way, but Delilah suspected that she would continue to remain that way, even if she was really good at stabbing people. Call it a hobby.

“That one. He’ll do.”

It didn’t even matter who they picked. Delilah just grinned, lifting her head high. She’d gotten pretty good at seducing dumb men. However, that night, they wouldn’t need nay kind of seduction to get their target that night.

Delilah slid up beside the man at the bar, smiling as charmingly as possible. The man turned to her readily, pleased at the presence of a woman. She said something flirty, it was hard to know what it was. Whatever she said, he seemed to be into it, leaning closer to her.

Women got away with so much when they flirted. She could reach into her pocket, slipping something into her hand. She could reach out, and clasp the top of his beer. She could bring it to her lips and take a sip of his drink. And while she licked her lips, she could relax her fingers, and let the pill that was clasped between her knuckles drop into his drink.

It was so easy to make roofies. A long time ago, she had wondered how so many men had such easy access to roofies. Turned out it was real easy to just make them.

Now he just needed to drink that drink, and she could lure the man off for her and her sister to sacrifice. A necessary evil. None of it was their fault, of course. There was no blame to be had on them.

That adrenaline built when the target’s hand came to rest on his beer. He gripped it, said something that he probably thought was intelligent, lifting it to his lips, his throat flexing as he prepared to drink-

Only for a hand made of metal and bone to swat it out of his grip, sending it spattering across the bar. The man turned to complain, only for the sound to falter out of his throat before he could bring it to the air.

“Move along,” the attacker growled, and she knew that drawl, that hitch to a voice that only came from a massive scar across his throat.

“Cooper,” she sighed, whipping around to face the hulking moron. “Do you mind?”

“Yes. Yes I do.” He loomed over her, his grey eyes narrowing. “Where’s your sister?”

“Ugh. Over there.” Delilah hopped up, looking down from the scowling features of that man, over his broad chest. “You’re lucky you’re so cu-”

His hand clamped on her wrist, hauling her over to her sister before she could finish that sentence. He grabbed Sloane as well, ignoring her squeaking protest, hauling her on out of the door. The night air was shockingly crisp, even more so as he brought them both down the alleyway beside the bar.

“What’s your problem? Can’t a girl pick up a guy at the bar once in a while?”

“Pick a guy up?” Cooper scoffed, dragging her around in front of him, looming over her. “So you can murder him after?”

Oh. Uh. “So you know about that, huh?” Delilah laughed weakly, shrugging. “It’s not a big deal-”

“Not a big- You are the worst!” He shoved her wrist away from him, but he still held on to Sloane. “Why would you ever kill someone?”

“So we can be witches!” Sloane piped up, yanking her wrist out of his grip. “Since you won’t teach us!”

“And you think killing innocent men will make you a witch?”

“Blood sacrifice-”

“Is bullshit! Blood doesn’t do- Who the fuck told you that?” Cooper tossed his hands up, the scar at the edge of his mouth stretching his mouth to an obscene sort of snarl. “You kill for your own selfish gain!”

“This isn’t our fault! If you would just-”

“You cannot put this on me!”

Delilah rolled her eyes, but watched him, nevertheless. For being a grumpy old man, he was really hot. Probably the main reason she and her sister kept pestering him. When she glanced over to her sister, she shared the same look. They both liked him, really.

Main goal was to fuck that old man before they left that shitty little town. Becoming witches was a good goal, but it was hard to find a quality man like Cooper.

She did have some extra roofies, now that she thought about it. Delilah grinned, letting the old man rant and rave. He was deeper in that mess than he knew.


	22. Original Fiction - Hallucination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cooper would just like to take a nap, thank you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I keep thinking of fandom stuff I should write for these to actually have people enjoy reading this butttttt i keep going back to OCs and stuff and I'm sorry

This was his punishment. He should have repented years ago. Whatever he had done, whatever evil he had done to deserve that torture could not be equal. He’d fucked up, okay? He knew that. He shouldn’t have fucked around, and he shouldn’t have run.

But he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk being like his mother. He couldn’t-

Cooper exhaled deeply, rubbing his eyes tiredly. So he’d fooled around with a very pretty lady twenty four years prior. So he’d gotten her pregnant. So he’d run the moment she’d told him that.

That had been the end of that, or so he had assumed. He hadn’t heard anything from her, until three months prior. She’d called him, told him what she thought of him with two very short words, and then hung up on him. He didn’t know it was the only warning he would get before his daughters would drop into his life.

Not that they seemed to know what he was to them. They flirted, they cooed, they touched him. Their mother had something to do with it. He knew that. She wanted him to suffer. Avoid his daughters through their youth? Now deal with them attempting to seduce him as an adult.

No matter what he did, he was only meant to suffer.

Resisting the urge to bite down on the end of his cigar, he paced back and forth on his front porch. The sun was setting, the warm light casting weird shadows across everything. Those two girls were the worst thing to have ever happened to him, but it wasn’t like he could tell them to go away.

They drove him to smoking again. A horrible fate, though the cigar did taste really good.

Gripping it, he inhaled deeply, his eyes wandering over to the window beside him. In his kitchen sat those two girls, eating his leftovers from his fridge. He didn’t want to bring them home with him, but they were on a rampage. Someone told them killing innocent men would activate magical powers in them.

Bullshit. He was harboring two murderers in his house. Not that he was any better. He’d ended some lives in his time. They were a lot more like him than he thought, than he hoped.

Turning away from the window, he blew out a cloud of smoke, into the cooling evening air. Whatever they had planned for him, he would just have to be prepared for it.

If he could just go back in time to where he didn’t know them, he’d be so much happier. They were lovely, misguided, sociopathic women who would probably kill him to benefit themselves. Well, Delilah would. Sloane seemed a bit gentler than Delilah. Matched their appearances a little, with Delilah so punk and aggressive looking.

His attention would have started to wander if not for the smoke in the air before him. It was from his cigar, he knew that, but it should have dissipated by now. And it certainly shouldn’t shift and form into a face that he knew and hated.

He was hallucinating. He had to be. But that smoky face shifted, plump lips curling into smile, and he knew it had to be there.

“What do you want, Septahnum?” He hissed, gripping his cigar way too tight in his teeth.

“Silly boy,” the smoky face laughed, coils of smoke forming the towering horns he knew that creature had. “Dance around your fate this much, and you will only doom yourself more.”

A demon, summoned by a friend who still persisted, who thought to stay and torture all of those with magic in their blood. At least, that was what he thought, unless he really was hallucinating. 

“I don’t have to listen to you.” Unless the voice was in his head, which was entirely possible. Who could say what was really happening? “You don’t know shit.”

“I know that you will end up more intertwined with those two women the more that you fight it. They are here for you.” The smoky face drifted closer to him, the demon’s empty eye socket seemed as empty and bottomless, like the pits of hell. “Either they will kill their targets, or you will train them. You must decide.”

He didn’t have to decide shit. Taking another puff of his cigar, he pointedly looked away from the smoky visage. The more he smoked, the more he added to the apparition of the demon. She could come and mock him as much as she wanted. He was old enough to make his own decisions.

“You know they won’t leave you until they get what they want. They are so much like you.”

“Why are you here bothering me? Don’t you have someone else you rather be hanging around?”

The face’s grin dropped, a ghostly eye rolling in its socket. “He’s at a concert and he didn’t invite me along. I’m bored.”

“Not my problem.” Just his luck, a demon would get so bored as to come and hassle him about his ignorantly incestuous daughters. A bored demon would be a hell of a lot easier to handle than the bullshit he was currently dealing with, but that was something Black had signed up for when he summoned that piece of shit.

He really needed to call Black up. Go have a drink with him. Get him to explain why he had a fucking demon still around. Didn’t Cooper have enough shit going on without having that shit dropping in on him.

“You will be in bed with them before you know it.”

Nope. He whipped back around, glaring at the smoke just as it started to dissipate into the air with an echoing laugh. Damn thing was mocking him. None of that would happen. Nope. That demon was fucking with him, lying to him.

Ugh. Puffing at his cigar, he glared at the growing dimness in his front yard. It had to have been a hallucination, a figment of his imagination. Life was fucked up enough as it was.

Especially when his daughters were involved.


	23. Original Fiction - Bleeding Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The origin of Septahnum, the 8ft demoness.

The cold was what bothered her most, weirdly enough. Not the betrayal of all the people she had ever none. Not the planned fate that had been decided for her. No no, it was the cold.

Shuddering, the girl attempted to wrap her arms around her, only to fail due to the length of her chains. It was one thing to be chain on a stone dais, another thing to be chained naked. She had long since known that a sacrifice was to be made, but she did not count herself among the potential sacrifices.

An eclipse was coming. As with most changes in the weather, the people of her village feared an attack. Not from invaders or from a storm, but from an unholy spirit. In the temples that she had cleaned for years, she had seen the statues and paintings of terrifying creatures. She could understand the fear.

Hell, she probably agreed with the sacrifices, if she thought about it. One life to benefit the many? That in itself sounded good, but the reality of it felt so much worse. When she was the one to die, what could she say about it?

Serve the temple, serve the village. Serve their safety, their continued survival. As the moon sat in the skies above her, she knew what was coming. She could do nothing to fight it. She would serve her people.

When the music started, she couldn’t control the soft sob that erupted from her throat. She knew what was coming. She’d watched it happen many times before, with the offering, and the singing, and the end.

Priests and loyal attendants marched up the steps, burning incense and singing their prayers to the gods. All of it was to invoke some kind of protection form the evil spirits they feared, in the hopes that they could continue to live peacefully in their village. That was always the hope, of some kind of continued survival in the face of a faceless, nameless evil that constantly lingered in the shadows. Fear was a powerful motivator, one that made parents willing to sacrifice their children in the hopes of avoiding some kind of unknown horror.

She knew all the prayers by heart at that point. She’d heard them so many times, helped read them from the ancient books with the acolytes. She’d so dreamed of serving the temple, speaking with the gods. But not like that. Never like that.

All she could do was wait, and hold back the urge to cry.

When the singing reached the ending notes, she wailed out her grief. She knew what was coming, what she had to do. The priestess they sent for her had a shake in her hand. It didn’t matter.

The blade was cold when it was pressed to her throat.

With this blood, we plead for thee to pass us by, and leave us again in peace.

She knew the words, and she knew what it meant. When the knife was drawn across her throat, she screamed out her agony into the air. The moon slid behind its shadow, and the world was cast in darkness.

If she was cold before, she was even colder then. She could feel the whump-whump of her heart pumping the blood out of her veins, betraying her. She could do nothing to stop it, with her hands chained down at her sides. Weakness grew, darkness fading.

_Pathetic child._

A voice, in her mind. Probably of her own persuasion, but the voice felt timeless, like thousand voices calling out as one.

_You bleed like a pig for slaughter._

She was a pig for slaughter. She was to be slaughtered for the safety of her village. She was to die to prevent an evil.

_You need not die, child. Your blood betrays you, but it is a tempting lure to me. I can take the flesh you leave and make it…more._

More? What was the point of being more? She could be more for a few more seconds before she died.

_You need not die. I can make you in my image, child. I can make you better than what they expected of you. I can make you a creature that proves to them that such sacrifices are a waste of their family. I can make you more!_

More. The sacrifices did have to stop somewhere. If they didn’t help, then surely something could change.

_Speak the words, child. Speak the words, and I will change you._

What did she have to lose?

Her eyes rolled back in her head, revealing nothing but the whites as she strained against her chains. The blood thickened, clinging to her flesh like tar. And with her last breath, she spoke.

**Esse autem humana debilis est. Accipe sacrificium novum: et fac me.**

Her voice started as nothing, but it built, layering and layering. Her arms flexed, and the chains crumbled into nothing at her strain. Her body built, grew. Light faded from her flesh as the moon stayed in darkness. Strength became the standard, body pumped full with the powers that her people had tried so hard to fight.

When the moon dared to show its face again, she towered over the priests and priestesses of her village. She felt their gaze, and she heard their horrified gasps. She felt them deep down in her soul, and she lifted her hands to the sky and she laughed.

“The sacrifice did not take,” one of the priests cried, coaxing the others into fleeing towards the stairs. “The evil has come!”

No. No evil. Just her. Always her.

She grinned, looking to her fleeing people. She had been a nameless girl serving the temple for years. Standing there, on the top of that stone dais, she felt things she had not felt in all her life. And for the first time, she had a name.

“I am Septahnum,” she spoke, her voice echoing out, down the temple stairs. “And I will take what was always meant for me. You will do well to yield in my step.”

Her mind may not entirely be her own anymore, but she was willing to be a vessel for whatever evil that beast desired. If only so she may be strong for once.

And not be cold any longer.


	24. Original Fiction - Hidden Wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gargoyle AU. I wanted gargoyle humpings and I put infertility as a hidden wound fight me

There were some benefits to being a test subject. Not to say that she liked being imprisoned, but there were nice things about it. For example, she got fed whenever she wanted. She had soft materials to make a nest out of. Sometimes, they had a covered dome for her to fly in, stretching her wings out.

The best part was the endless stream of suitors as the scientists struggled to get an egg to start in her womb.

Some of the suitors, she liked less than others. Some were not as pleasing, some were too delicate or too lacking. There were fun ones, boring ones who fussed over her like she was made of glass, and then, there was her very favorite. Her most favorite mate of all. One that didn’t give her often of course, due to the full workaround he gave her.

They thought her delicate. They thought her a fainting little flower, an example of the softer sex. The scientists thought they knew gargoyles well, but they did not know how rough and tumble they could be. Maybe she was unique for a female gargoyle, not that she would know. She did seem to be the last female on the continent. Not much to compare to.

All she knew was that she very much enjoyed when he was passed on to her.

The static burst over the intercom, just enough of an alert before the words that usually startled her. “Good evening, my dear. How are you feeling today?”

Smothering a yawn behind her talons, she stretched her wings upwards, feeling the soft pop of all the delicate bones. “I’m feeling very good tonight, actually.” Please let that be sign enough.

“Mmhm. Excellent.” There was a shuffle of papers, audible even over the intercom. “Any soreness or lethargy?”

“No ma’am, I don’t think so. I feel right as rain. Perhaps I could go and take a flight today?” Another prod, a test of what they might allow. They may have thought that they had a mastery of her, but she could be just as manipulative as they were.

Some more shuffling, some muffled murmuring. They were planning fun things for her, she just knew it. “Perhaps, if you feel up to it, you would be willing to attempt another mating.”

Oh yes. Just as she wanted. She did her very best to not look too excited, tapping a talon on her bottom lip. Considering it, as it were. “Yes, I do think so. An egg will have to take sometime soon, right?”

No, it wouldn’t. But they didn’t need to know that.

“Yes, with any luck. We will send in a prospective mate soon.”

Please let it be the fun one. Please, please, please. As much as she tried to hold in her excitement, her tail still twitched and curled in eagerness.

When the glass door on the side of her enclosure opened up, she perked up, wings flaring slightly. And when that big, beautiful male came crawling in, she flapped them out entirely, her tail snapping and whipping about.

He was the biggest that she had ever seen, with massive wings and the most powerful tail. She knew he could break his way out of there if he wanted to, but he stayed. Probably for the easy food and matings.

It wasn’t like she played hard to get, after all. When his amber eyes whipped her way, she purred, crawling out of her nest to meet him.

Not that he wanted that. He threw himself forward with a roar, slamming into her, knocking her back into her nest of blankets and pillows. It hurt a little, but it only served to make her laugh with glee, wriggling underneath his weight.

His talons scraped her skin as he clawed off her clothes, pushing at her body to get her on her knees. He never spoke to her. He always growled and snarled, pushing and pawing at her until he had his way. Just how she liked it. No need to dance around anything. Just pure, animalistic intent.

When he mounted her, she keened loudly, talons slapping against the glass wall of her enclosure to keep him from forcing her face first into it. He was always deliciously rough, slamming into her without a concern for how much of his cock that she could take. Whatever kind of gargoyle he was, he sure knew how to fuck.

They kept trying to get her laden with egg, but that would never happen. Long before the scientists had ever taken her, she had known that her body was without life. She would never have an egg, she would never have a hatchling.

She knew that. And any male who had been with a female would know. Barren females smelled different, smelled empty. Some of the males they had paired her with had never seen a female, let alone scented one, so they no doubt had no clue.

The one currently pounding her into her nest like it was going out of style? She had a feeing he knew very well that she was barren, and just didn’t care. He was like her, and just liked mating for the fun and pleasure of it.

His talons cupped over her throat, hauling her back, forcing her to arch her back and take him however he wanted. She keened in delight of it, lacing her tail up his body, curling it around him in an embrace, holding him as tight against her as possible.

If she could convince the scientists to let her and that lovely male fly together, maybe she could talk him into breaking out of that facility with her. They could go wherever they wanted, and luxuriate in the wilderness with the freedom to mate whenever they wanted.

That is, if he liked her half as much as she liked him. He was handsome, strong, and a damn good time. That was more than enough for her to want a mate for life.

His hips slapped into her rump hard as he snarled, emptying his first load of the night into her. He had a few more in him, she knew, and she could work out the details some other time.


	25. Original Fiction - Humiliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Septahnum has some fun with her (adult) summoner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously he's like 24 years old. She'd just really stinkin old so everyones a baby to her.

It took a lot more to entertain her anymore. She had seen much in her centuries, and everything was a repeat, the usual.

That kid was something special, though.

He insisted that he was an adult. She didn’t believe that, considering she had been alive for a few thousand years. His age was miniscule compared to hers, but he could huff and growl about it all that he wanted.

She found it…adorable.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor of the shed, she rested her chin on her hand, watching that boy flip through the spell book. He said he bought it at a voodoo shop. What a shame that such a powerful book had been purchased with…money. Such a book should have been passed on or fought for, not handed off so easily. Didn’t they know what it was worth?

“Where’s all the damn shapeshifting spells?”

“Mm?” She blinked slowly, her lips curling into a smile at his gritted teeth. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I want to shift.” He turned towards her, scowling. He really did have the cutest freckles. His teeth were crooked and he was terribly gangly, but he was a charming looking thing. “I want to be a gator sometimes.”

“Interesting form to choose. Wouldn’t you rather be grand, like me?” Shifting, she rose to her hooves, flexing her arms. “Aren’t I something to be admired?”

His eyes flickered over her for a moment, a sneer curling at his lip. “Your body is just made for fucking. I want-”

“Don’t presume what I was made for, child,” she hissed, baring her fangs. “I am so much more than you could even begin to comprehend. I am ageless. I am eternal. And you, little one, are a human who fools with things that you cannot understand. I. Am. Everything.” With that little statement, she strode up to the edge of his little summoning circle, looming over him. “And you will respect me.”

He snorted, slapping his spell book shut. “You’re mine. I can do-”

Time to end that little game. Lunging out of the circle, she slapped her hand on his chest, shoving him to the floor. It had been enough to let him believe that his containment circle had kept her under his heel for a time, if only so she could have her fun. Now was a good time to let him know he had been sorely mistaken.

The boy hit the ground with a grunt, and that was where she wanted to keep him. Bringing her hoof down on his chest, she kept him down, grinning at his little form.

“You are a sad, pathetic little thing. You struggle against the restraints of this world and gain nothing. You are a joke. You are nothing. You are a feeble toy that serves only to entertain me. You are a worm, drowning in the mud under my hoof.” At that statement, she pressed down harder, and he wheezed. “You are no better than vermin.”

“Yeah?” He wheezed, clasping at her fetlock for a moment. “You just think that because you’re not human.”

“No. There have been humans I’ve respected. You are not one of them.” She was laying it on a little thick, but she had a suspicion about something. Considering his face seemed to be a tad more flushed than it had been, she wasn’t about to hold back.

The boy just snorted, sneering up at her. Daring her. Challenging her.

Might as well have some fun. She slid her hoof down lower, pressing the cloven keratin over the crotch of his jeans. She could feel the softness of his genitals underneath the fabric, but the flesh seemed to be hardening up.

He was enjoying it. She knew it.

“If you knew what you had summoned, you would be worshipping me. You would beg to lick my hoof. You would delight to have me piss on me.”

“Maybe you should show me how great that would be.”

She shouldn’t. He claimed to be an adult, but she couldn’t be sure. Still, who would she report to? He had no parents who looked over him. She was a demon. She was expected to do evil.

So she shrugged, flicking her hand over the ghostly skirt of smoke she wore, letting her cock be shown. Over the centuries, she had grown quite fond of switching genitalia from time to time. Both had their uses, and in that moment, having a cock seemed to be a good choice.

The boy lit up at the sight of it, his fingertips digging into the dirt beneath him. He was ready, waiting, so eager for whatever she had to offer. That was consent enough for her.

Curling her talons around her dick, she made sure to aim it at his chest. It took some focus, but with a bit of relaxation, she started to empty her bladder onto his chest. And under her watchful eye, she got to see the boy flush deeper, his cock straining against his jeans.

Oh what fun times. She grinned down at him, adjusting her aim to piss higher on his chest, closer to his face. It was always good to start slow with that sort of thing, just to make sure he was still into it. He certainly seemed to be, his teeth cutting into his bottom lip in his excitement.

Humiliation could be quite fun. Not a constant trope of sex, but something to explore once in a while. He seemed to shiver, shake under her hoof, taking all that she had to offer.

Which wasn’t much more. With a satisfied sigh, she shook the last few drops out of her dick, flicking her hair tiredly over her shoulder while she was at it. Had to play up the boredom.

“If you were truly appreciative of me,” she sighed dramatically, dragging her hoof off of him. “You’d lick me clean to thank me for giving you my piss.”

The boy scrambled faster than she thought he would. His hands slapped onto her thighs, and he nuzzled up against her dick like he’d die if he didn’t. The sweetest thing was how he looked up at her, looking through pale blond lashes as he dragged his lips over her.

Not something she had planned, but she could go with it. Been a while since she’d had that kind of fun with a human, after all.


	26. Original Fiction - Abandonment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just love Black McGrath okay

He could get attached to things. That wasn’t completely unheard of. Especially if someone was useful or entertaining in some way. There had been moments where she had been an annoying piece of shit, but he was still a little attached to her.

Dumping her out of his truck at the hospital had hurt. He’d had plans to come back, wait for her at the door and kill her then, but something had changed. He kept thinking about her in the hospital bed, thinking about her all broken and her breath rattling out of her and he kind of forgot about killing her for a while.

But then she appeared on his front door, smiling, with tears in her eyes. It’d been so long, he hadn’t honestly expected to see her back, but the excitement had been too much. His heart beat faster, and he knew he had to see her struggling in his grip. He hadn’t been able to resist. So he’d tried. He’d tried to kill her.

And it didn’t work. She’d run off, and then there was that gun, and she had pointed it at her head. Instinct had had him lunging forward, throwing himself at her.

He told himself it was because he wanted to do it himself. But knocking the hand away from her head wasn’t entirely successful.

Seeing her head kick to the side, the splash of blood, he’d felt far more horror about it than he thought he would. They’d crashed to the ground, and he’d cursed his luck.

He’d liked her. He’d really liked her. She’d had plenty to hold on to, and having a consistent partner had made him…happier. Seeing her dead on the ground made him realize some things.

But she’d wheezed. Laying on the ground, her head a bloody mess, she’d rattled out the worst breath he’d ever heard. She was alive, he’d managed to do something. Saved a life, imagine that. Not that it was the first time he’d saved a life, but she seemed like a unique case.

He should just leave her to die. He should let her bleed out in his swamp. She was more trouble than she was worth. He could just find another pet, or better yet, just not have anyone in his house. It would be fine.

Sighing, he let her flop in the mud and leaves, rising to his feet. It was a wash. He could just move on, go back to his daily life. Get back to the normal shit.

She rattled, and moaned. Weak, pathetic animal, dying.

Still, he stopped. He should keep going.

He turned back around, looking at her body. He should leave her. He really needed to leave her.

What he did instead was bundle her up in his arms, cradling her against his chest.

Stupid bitch. Shouldn’t have come back. Shouldn’t have tried to kill herself. Shouldn’t have fought him.

Shouldn’t mean anything to him.

Her head lolled back, her mouth hanging open. Clear liquid dribbled from her nose and mouth. Cracked skull. She was still alive. He could leave her to die. But he carried her onwards, out of the swamp.

He couldn’t do the hospital again. She said she hadn’t told anyone anything, but he couldn’t risk it. He certainly couldn’t drive to another hospital. If he remembered correctly, Ruby had talked about knowing medical shit. He could try her.

Getting her into his truck was a joke. He was going through too much shit for the same stupid bitch that wasn’t worth the trouble. She wasn’t even particularly cute. She wasn’t the best cook, she wasn’t the best in bed. She was just comfortable.

Maybe that was worth something. Maybe that made her worth keeping.

On the drive to town, he kept looking over at her. She was a pathetic sack of meat in the passenger seat of his truck, leaking strange fluids and blood everywhere. She was a waste. He shouldn’t have wasted his time with her.

“You left me,” he grumbled, gripping the steering wheel tighter and tighter, until the plastic squeaked under the strain. “You went back to California.”

What, like she was supposed to stay? Why would she have stayed? She’d been a fighter for so long. Even when she had broken and started to eat human flesh, he could see the fire in her eyes, the urge to resist. One of the reasons why he liked her.

Did he honestly expect her to come running back to him the moment she got out of the hospital?

Maybe?

He didn’t know. But he was sure as shit going out of his way to help her when she definitely wasn’t worth the trouble.

But she had come back. She’d come back with a plan. She’d vaguely threatened him with the gun, but had it been her plan the whole time to kill herself? Hard to tell. If she survived, he could ask her.

“I’d like you to stay,” he continued, not bothering to stop at the stop sign at the end of that dirt road. No one ever stopped at that stop sign. “If you live. Wouldn’t mind if you stuck around. Liked you.”

Not that he’d say any of that to her when she woke up. She didn’t deserve to hear it, what with the way she tried to shoot herself and all. Ungrateful little bitch.

He’d still bring home his usual fun. Playthings, pets, people to fuck. She’d be okay with that, right? She had to be okay with it. She’d become okay with the eating people part. She’d been okay with his smell. She’d reached for him, sought him out, even long after when it had been a survival thing.

“Don’t want you to leave me again,” he grumbled, pulling up on Ruby’s house. “You’re mine. You’ve been mine. You know that, right?”

She, of course, couldn’t answer. She could only lay there, her breath a ragged rattle in her chest, her body leaking liquids and insisting it was a corpse. He wanted it to be otherwise.

He’d make it that way.


	27. Original Fiction - Ransom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More sap because i want to

“If you held me for ransom, how much would you ask for?”

His hands paused n their whittling, his brow lifting, but his eyes not lifting from his work. Quiet contemplation, confusion at her words, but no response. She liked confusing him. He got that cute look, one where he couldn’t comprehend what things she thought of. Like he marveled at her stupidity.

“Seriously, how much do you think I’m worth.”

“A nickle,” he grumbled, digging the point of his knife into the wood. “With a coupon.”

She snorted, rocking back in her chair. Her very own chair on his porch! She was getting so spoiled. He’d made her a rocking chair to go right beside his. She really was living large, wasn’t she?

“If I held you for ransom, I’d ask for the moon as payment. That way they could never buy you from me.” Sappy, sure, but she liked him. She really liked him. She finally felt that she actually loved him, what with her time to actually get to know him as a equal and not as a victim.

“I’d escape.” Lifting the block of wood, he admired the lines he had already carved. “Run away.”

“Rude. We could get whatever ransom money they pay and go on vacation.” Rocking back, she propped her feet up on the railing of the porch, staring out at the hazy sunset. “Where would you want to go?”

More whittling, more scraping under the tinny croon of his radio playing music. “Why’re you so…saccharine today.”

“Oh, ten dollar word,” she cooed, grinning at his irritated eye roll. “I dunno. I just like you a lot.”

“Big mistake.” Stabbing the tip of his knife onto the arm of his chair, he picked up his bottle of beer, lifted it, then paused, side eyeing her. “What do you want?”

“I’m not buttering you up to ask for something. I just…I mean really. I just like you. You’re gross, and we’ve had some shit happen in the past, but call me stupid, I’ve forgiven all that shit from before.”

All the torture. The rape. The cannibalism. She’d forgiven it all because she was a fucking moron. Still, things had improved.

Sighing, he took a draw of his beer, his throat working with each swallow. When he lowered his beer, he hummed, licking his lips. It was the little things that she admired. He was a man like any other, but somehow, he seemed exceptional, beyond anything else she had ever seen. Then again, she’d never had a boyfriend or anything.

So the novelty of it was high with her. Being able to just walk up and kiss a handsome man whenever she wanted was amazing.

He sighed louder, like he was the most put out he had ever been in his entire life. Thudding down his beer, he jerked his hand towards his chest. “C’mon then, needy cunt.”

Oh? She hopped up out of her chair, shuffling over to his. When he shuffled his legs apart and lifted up his arms, she quite easily and happily hopped into his lap, draping her legs over his, resting her cheek on his chest. Just as he wanted, as he dropped his arms around her again, resuming his whittling.

He was the best for cuddling. He wasn’t the softest, but he was big and warm, and that was most of what mattered. And he loved cuddling, so that was a plus. Sighing softly, she melted into it, letting her eyes close.

“Antimatter.”

“Hm?” She peeled an eye open, staring at his arm, at the muscles twitching and flexing as he continued to whittle. 

“Antimatter. That’d be your ransom.” Lifting the wood again, she finally that it was going to be a vulture carving. “I’d ask for antimatter.”

“Uh. Why?”

“Rarest thing out there. Worth something like fifty trillion.” He resumed his whittling. “That way, no one could buy you from me.”

Oh. That was weirdly sweet. She smiled, curling in tighter against him.

“You’re mine,” he grumbled, digging his knife in probably a bit too hard. “No one can take you.”

“Yeah, I love you too.” He wouldn’t say it, wouldn’t feel it, but that was okay. “Well, all of this is a moot point. We don’t have anyone to pay our ransom anyways.”

“Fuck you, I’ve got friends.”

“Asshole,” she laughed, tucking a hand under the neckline of his tank top, rubbing his chest. “Well, I don’t.”

“Mm. Teddy-Lee likes you.”

“Oh does he?” She perked up, actually looking up at him. “Wasn’t he the guy with half a foot?”

“Also the man with the red hair. You remember the foot.” He tsked, shaking his head a little. “Rude.”

“Rude? You’re the one that told that woman at the grocery store that her ass was lumpier than tapioca pudding.”

“Well, it was. Never seen an ass that lumpy.” He grumbled, setting his finished whittling on the arm of his chair. “Some bitches shouldn’t wear yoga pants.”

“You like me in yoga pants.”

“Your ass is lumpy too.”

“Alright, it’s like you don’t want to fool around tonight.”

“I’ll fuck you tonight whether you like it or not.”

“Mm, rapey.” He was the worst man ever, but he was her horrible man. “Sounds like a date.”

Date. As if they’d actually gone on an actual date. Maybe she could trick him into that. Convince him to take her down to the diner, sit and eat and talk to him. He’d been out fishing a lot, she could probably convince him to talk about some of the gators he had tagged recently. He liked talking about that.

Even with his grumpiness, he was right. She’d make the ransom so high that no one could buy him from her. Because despite how horrible he was, he was all that she had. And that was all that she needed to know, and needed to remember.

He acted like a possessive bastard, but she was too. He could sleep around all he wanted, just so long as he came home to her.


	28. Original Fiction - Beaten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sep wants to prove she can fight. Black doesn't give a shit.

There was something so terrifying about feeling an ache to be seen as an equal. There was a constant battle for everyone to be seen as someone worth respecting. Within a job, within a home, within shopping at the grocery store and when someone cuts you off with their shopping cart.

This was different. This was miles apart. This was intense.

She couldn’t just stand firm and be respected. She couldn’t just look him in the eye and be more. Demand more. She had to prove it to him. Because he wasn’t just a man who believed words. He was a man who saw belief in action. He was a man who was an animal deep down.

So she had to do animal proof. She had to do action, had to do convincing.

So that was why she picked up the baseball bat, and that was why she stood before him in his driveway.

“You think you strong?”

“I am strong. I am strong.” Rolling her shoulders, rolling her neck, she breathed out steadily. “I can show you.”

“It’ll be worse than this. They’ll be fighting to live.”

Yeah, well, she was too. Her life was different. She could show him that she was different.

“You think this will be easy, but it won’t be.”

She knew it wouldn’t be easy. She wasn’t an idiot.

“You don’t have to,” he finally murmured, pulling off his hat, tossing it over towards the porch. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

Which was sweet for him to say, but she felt that she had to do it. She had to be good at it. She had to show him that she was fully committed and…right.

So that was why she rushed forward, swinging that bad as hard as she could right for his side. It was stupid. It was the affection she had for that piece of shit. She didn’t want to hurt him.

He had no such sentiment.

His hand snapped to the side, catching the bat easily. He was fast. He’d been doing that shit for years. He knew how to fight, he knew how to survive. She was just a pathetic nothing who had never had to fight ever in her life.

Which was why he lifted his boot, planting it on her chest and kicking her away from him. There was no gentility in it, just sending her flying.

There was no way he was ever going to be gentle about it. Still, it hurt more than physically when she hit the ground, skidding through gravel. She had always known that he was willing to be rough, even violent with her, but when he actually was, it reminded her that she, as always, felt so much more for him than he did for her.

That was fine. That was the life she chose.

Hoisting herself to her feet, she fought the urge to lay there and groan about it. She had no air in her lungs, but she didn’t need air. She just needed to fight.

So she went at him again with the bat.

She hit him that time, but she had a suspicion that he let her hit him. Everything he did was part of a plan. He was fucking smart in ways that most people weren’t, and that in itself was terrifying. He knew people better than most, even if he didn’t respond accurately. He knew animal instinct.

He wanted her to know how to fight, and damn it all, that was what he was teaching her. Maybe not in so many words, but that was what he was doing. He let her attack, would defend, would strike back. His attacks were always so much more brutal than hers, beating her back, sending her falling, flying, cowering back from his vast strength.

She couldn’t win from strength alone. She had to be faster than him, but he was impossibly fast, without mercy. As the time passed, she ended up far more beaten, far more bruised than he. It didn’t help that the more the fighting went on, the faster and rougher he got with her.

It wasn’t until he had her pinned down onto the ground that she realized why he had become so brutal.

He was turned on by fighting. She’d forgotten, reminded so forcefully by his weight on her back, pinning her down into the gravel with him rutting against her ass like he was some kind of animal.

He was an animal. That was why she liked him so much, dammit. Still, he could get so horny at the worst times. She was in pain. She was bruised, she was beaten. She had blood seeping from gashes on her face when he shoved her into the gravel. He never cared if she wanted it or not, how she was feeling. If he wanted to fuck, then he took it. She was just the most accessible victim to him now. Normally, he’d go out and hunt something down.

She was just there, just easy for him to play with. Which she liked, and also hated. The usual affair.

How many times, how many ways would he beat her to the ground? How many times would she take it like she wanted it more than anything? It seemed like she would never come to her senses and leave him forever because she was in love with an abusive piece of shit, who just shoved her pants down far enough for him to get his dick in her. Hell, she was even surprised that he didn’t try to force his way into her ass. She was his victim, but she loved him and would continue to stay with him.

She was beaten in more ways than one. That had been clear a long time ago. She’d never win, never escape. That might have bothered her a long time ago, but at that point, she was fine with what she had. It was her life, and she was going to make the best of it, dammit.


	29. Original Fiction - Numb

She couldn’t help the coo. The soft, wheedling little cluck, only to be choked off by a giggle at the grumpy glare turned her way.

“Aww, don’t be so pouty,” she sighed, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “It was for your own good.”

“Mah toof,” Black grumbled, sinking lower in his seat, holding the ice pack against his cheek much too hard. “Fuffin hurfs.”

“There is no tooth to hurt, baby. They ripped it out of your cute head. Mmhm Watched them do it.”

“Wassun numb nuff,” he continued to grumble. He was the biggest baby about it, and it was honestly the cutest thing she had ever seen in her entire life. Such a big, scary man, reduced into a pouty brat because of a visit to the dentist.

“I know it hurts now, but it’ll be worth it in the long run. That tooth has been bothering you for weeks, young man. It shouldn’t have taken you this long to get it pulled.”

“Coulda pulled it m’self.”

“No. No. Remember the last time you pulled your own tooth?”

Rather than respond, rather than use words, he stomped his boot on the floor of his truck, pairing it with an indignant grunt. Such an animal, such a pouty little creature. She struggled to hold in her laugh, biting her lip instead.

Focus on something else. Be decent.

“If you want,” she sang, reaching out to pat his knee. “I can make you some gumbo for dinner. I can cut up the sausage nice and small, so you can enjoy it.”

He huffed. There was a long pause of nothing. “Awright,” he eventually grumbled, resting his head on the window.

Such a child, but that was okay. She didn’t want to be an overbearing partner or anything, but sometimes, he needed some pushing to take care of himself. Pushing him to bathe more, actually go to the doctor about things. He was a good man, a functioning adult, but sometimes he thought he had a better handle on things than he actually did.

She loved him, lord, she loved him, but he was stupid sometimes.

Getting him home was a challenge. His pout, his grumble, getting him out of the car was adorable. He scowled at her, a little bit of blood dribbling out of the corner of his mouth. Adorable.

“You were so good at the dentist, baby,” she cooed, bracing his arm, helping him hobble up the stairs to his porch. “You didn’t complain, and you didn’t bite the dentist. Excellent work.”

“M’not a chil.”

“No, you’re not. You’re a very good man who digs through the dentist’s reward chest for children to find something fun to chew on. Like a dog.” Getting him into his home was a bit like wrangling an angry goose, especially with his huffing and drooling, but whatever. She managed to get him onto his couch, where he just huffed and sank down into the cushion. “But you’re my good man with oral tendencies. Now. I’m going to get you a chew toy, you rottweiler, and you’re going to watch TV while I make you some soup.”

“M’not a dog.” Such a compelling statement while sinking lower and lower onto the couch.

“Now you’re a pouty child, and I love you.” Snatching up the remote form the coffee table, she slapped it down onto the couch arm beside him. Leaning down further, she planted a loud, wet kiss on his forehead. “Watch your shows and lighten up.”

“Fuff yew.”

Cute. She was just going to go straight into the kitchen, but she had to make a pitstop and get him a blanket, tossing it over his legs. He huffed, kicking his boots out from underneath the blanket.

She didn’t entirely blame him. Going to the dentist fucking sucked. Still, he was a forty-two year old man, and he didn’t have to sit around and grumble about everything. Maybe he was hamming it up because he had someone to take care of him?

She was happy to take care of him, anyways. Fussing away at his favorite soup, she just wanted him to stop pouting.

Still, it was kind of nice to see him all curled on the couch, bundled in a blanket, holding an ice pack against his face. What a cutie.

“I’ve got a nice big bowl for you,” she sang, stepping up next to him with the tray. “And I’ve got some crackers too. Make sure to keep it on the other side of your mouth.”

He huffed, thumping the ice pack down so he could reach for the tray. He settled back with the bowl, spooning up an obscene amount and shoveling it in. Not the best idea with a hole in his mouth, but okay.

She stood there and watched him for a minute. Such a pouty baby. And he would continue to just shovel it in unless she did something about it.

“Is it good?” She teased, sinking down onto the couch by his feet.

He grunted, staring determinedly at the TV. Some gory movie was playing, the tinny sound of canned screamed echoing out from the old speakers. They really needed to get a new TV. It wasn’t like they were broke, but Black never seemed to spend money on anything but food.

She just chuckled, grabbing his legs and forcing him to rest his feet in her lap. The skin was thick and stiff, so it took some extra work to massage them. He grumbled and grunted, but left his feet in her lap all the same.

Big pouty baby. She could only imagine how he’d act when she took him down to get blood drawn from the doctor the next week. She could ply him with a haircut or something, play with his hair and get him to nap.

She’d pay for all that extra care she was forcing on him. He’d find his ways to get back at her, be it tracking extra mud in or something more physical. She didn’t much mind anyways.


	30. Dark Knight Rises AU - Recovery

The aches and pains had become familiar, but it always seemed so much worse when his family felt them as well. He had been born into suffering. That did not mean they deserved to feel the same.

Peering out the gap between the window frame and the curtain, Bane looked down on the street of the slums. It was not the ideal place to hide, but in times of war, there was only survival. And while he usually had time to plan things out in advance, he was not beyond acting on the spot.

His habibi’s mother had more resources than he would have expected, and did everything in her power to kill her own daughter. There had been a time that he had regretted not knowing his family better, but that was probably for the best. The family he had made was far superior to anything he could have been born in to.

Turning away from the window, he looked into the apartment. It must have been a drug den at some point, but for a time, it served as a good place to rest. While he could continue on for days, he had a few passengers who were still not used to it.

His sweet habibi had improved on her stamina, but she wasn’t quite there yet. And still, she had to struggle more due to hauling along two young passengers. His two daughters, still so young, born into war and battle. Not ideal, but they all did what they could to ensure that they had some semblance of a childhood. Two fathers, a mother, and a wealth of loyal followers.

Still, it was war. And there could only be so much rest without the threat of the enemy coming in. But there had to be times for rest.

The front door to that drug den apartment opened up, and in came Barsad, his eyes staring straight ahead as they had to. He moved like a pro, though, lifting up a brown paper back as he shut the door behind him.

“I have returned with dinner.”

“Our hero,” Sep sighed, hugging their daughters to her sides. “I hope it wasn’t too hard to go out there.”

“I managed just fine, my love.” Barsad came up to them, kneeling in front of the trio, smiling up at them. “I got you some food, my lovelies.”

The two girls extended their little hands for the food, taking their burgers, their little bottles of milk. They were quiet, exhausted beyond belief, but they did not complain. So young, already such warriors.

Bane would be proud if it was not so sad.

“I have food for you as well, darling,” Barsad continued, bringing out another burger, offering it to her. “You must eat.”

“Did you get enough for you and Bane as well?” Her eyes narrowed, suspicious. That left eye was still cloudy, a stray bit of shrapnel testing her sight as well. She had become so scarred, such a soldier.

“Yes, my love,” Barsad laughed, placing it in her hand. “We will all eat tonight.”

She grumbled, unwrapping it while casting them suspicious looks. As long as she ate, that was all that mattered.

Barsad laughed, rising to his feet once more. He approached Bane, drawing forth his own fast food. “I apologize for the junk, Bane. I know you-”

“It will do, Barsad.” Rather than go straight for the food, Bane took a moment to lay his hand on his soldier’s shoulder. “I do not know what I would do without you.”

Barsad smiled that charming little smile, resting his hand over Bane’s. “You would do just fine, but I am happy to assist you.”

Assist. Bane could only lean down, pressing his forehead to Barsad’s. Just a quiet moment to reflection, of recovery. They would have to fight again the following day, and the day after that, no doubt, but they could take the time to enjoy the moments of quiet peace they were allowed.

With the quiet moment in that apartment, Bane took a seat down by his wife, his husband, and his two daughters. Back when he had started his fight, back in the Pit, he never thought he would have his own family. Hell, he never thought he would actually survive past Talia.

Sure, there were struggles with the new battles that came, but he would not change it for the world. He had plenty to be thankful for. Sure, he was missing an arm. That was not optimal, but he had adapted to it well enough. He had no place to complain. He lost one limb, while his wife lost three, and his husband lost his sight. He would never complain. He had no right to.

He could complain, however, about being unable to give them a good home and a place to rest. They should have a den to be safe, a place to grow and become more without the fear of attack. Perhaps someday, he could retire. He could weave and relax, and let his family do whatever it was that they wanted to do. Barsad could go back to his whittling. Sep could read like she used to. And his girls could develop on their own.

Dreams to be had. Sometimes it was worth all the fighting for the chance to find peace at the end.

They ate quietly, and that did more to make his heart ache than anything else he had ever witnessed. Children should be loud and happy, but there they sat, quiet and eating, like it was their last meal.

But as always, his loves were always so much more prepared than he ever was. He knew war. He did not know peace.

“Now that dinner is done,” Barsad announced, crumpling up his own burger wrapper, “I have a surprise.”

The girls perked up, and Sep smiled so softly, so piously. She knew.

Barsad reached into the bag again, producing a box of crayons, and a coloring book. How he had managed to get that, Bane would never know. It did not matter.

All that mattered was that his girls smiled, reaching for their gifts, and everything was okay, for just a little bit longer. The war would not last forever, and when it ended, his family would have their peace.


	31. Original Fiction - Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based the last chapter on the most terrifying movie I have ever seen: Seeking a Friend for the End of the World.  
That movie is so traumatizing to me. The end is just...well, here's my take on it.

When the reports came, she considered ending it early. Why drag it out? What did she honestly have to continue on for for the last bit of survival?

It was the end of the world, and she had nothing to continue on for. No friends, no family. The whole world mourned for each other, for themselves, and she had nothing to be sad about.

In a world where everything was going to end, there was no point in laws, in considering the future. People did whatever it was that they wanted to do. They traveled. They spent time with loved ones. They tried things that they had never done before.

She thought it would be surprising to see people getting murdered, but hey, sometimes people just wanted to try out being a murderer. She didn’t blame them. End of the world, no punishments, no reason to fear. The worst thing was how much she didn’t fear anything.

Because she was nothing to everyone. She had no connections, nothing to mourn the loss, no one to be upset at the fact that her life was going to be snuffed out. Sure, everyone was going to die, but sometimes, people mourned the fact that someone else was going to die.

Not her. Nope. She had nothing, and all she had was setting out on the road, determined to see new shit before the world ended.

Zoning out at the road ahead of her, she expected to feel something in her heart, but there was nothing. No fear. Just nothing. Something she had been going through her entire life. Maybe she was broken, maybe there was something wrong with her, but who could say? Who would care? With no one around her, no one would question it.

Still, it would be nice to have someone to mourn her. That’d be fun.

Glancing up at the passing signs, she heaved a world weary sigh. She should stop for food. Some places still went about business as usual. It was usually the complete lack of direction that made people continue going to work. Why bother doing anything else? Still, it served her well enough to pull off of the freeway, finding someplace to eat. A bar would do.

There were only a few hours left at that point. She just wanted a warm meal, some comfort before the asteroid finally hit and wiped out all life on the earth. Since she couldn’t have anything else she wanted, she would have to satisfy herself with some junk food.

Only a few cars parked in the parking lot. She didn’t bother to find a proper spot, just pulling in at a random angle so she could get out of her damn car. The front door to the bar hung open, and it was mostly quiet inside.

There were a few people there, sitting off by themselves, consuming too much alcohol. There was a bartender behind the bar, popping open a bottle of beer to set it in front of a man sitting on one of the stools.

Shuffling up, she settled on a stool at the bar as well, smoothing her fingers through her hair. The end was coming closer, and all she wanted was some food.

“Getcha anything?” The bartender sighed, his voice thick with sadness. Understandable.

“Anything hot to eat.”

The bartender nodded, and shuffled on to the back. Anything to distract.

She echoed that sentiment. Folding her arms on the bar, she peered down the line to the man who also sat there.

He was covered in blood, which was interesting. His hands were soaked with his, tracks of it trailing down his chin from his mouth. He seemed calm, without a care, lifting his beer to take a long draw of it. He was zoned out, just enjoying his beer, just covered in blood.

Life was short. She was going to die soon anyways. So she slid over to the stool beside the man. No point in fearing death.

Sighing, he set down his beer, looking down at her.

“Hi.”

He hummed, eyes flicking over her.

“Got everything done that you wanted to do?”

He nodded faintly, scratching idly at the bloody stubble on his cheek. “You?”

“I guess.” She shrugged, smiling at the bartender when he brought her a dish of fried food. Random stuff he probably found in the freezer. Hard to tell. But it was warm, and that was all she wanted. “As much as I could get, I guess.”

“Yeah? What didn’t you get done?” Weird that he questioned it while covered in blood, but she was beyond caring.

“I don’t know. Someone to care about me dying? That’s not really something you can get last minute. So.” Pushing the plate so it was between the two of them, she picked up a fish stick, munching on it. It was kind of nice to see him pick up an onion ring. Participating. “I’ll settle with some fried food.”

He nodded faintly, munching on the onion ring. “What else you want?”

Kind of nice to have someone to talk to about it. She hummed, considering it. The time was ticking down, she knew it, but sitting with a stranger at a bar was a good way to go. “Physical contact. Thought about trying to find a prostitute, but prostitutes have families. Just someone to hug for as long as I want, you know? I never really got many hugs while the world was…you know, going to survive.”

“A hug? Shit,” he drawled, lifting a hefty arm and settling it around her shoulders. “That’s easy.”

Oh. Really? She blinked down at the plate, then peered up at the blood soaked stranger. “You’ll…”

“Like a good cuddle. Already did all the shit I want to do. Happy to go out holding on to a pretty girl.”

“That…sounds nice. Thank you.” He was warm, and he was there. She could lean in to him, eat her last meal, and wait for the end to come.

When the rumble of the approaching asteroid started to become deafening, she closed her eyes and turned into his chest, finding comfort in the arms of a man who most likely killed many others. In the end, did any of that really matter?


End file.
